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AN  OUTLINE  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 


AN 


OUTLINE  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 


EDWARD  BRADFORD  TITCHENER 

& 


,f\ 

-j  Ntto 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  & CO.,  Ltd. 

1898 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1897, 

By  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped  July,  1896.  Reprinted  March, 
November,  1897;  September,  1898. 


Ncrfoooti 

J.  S.  Cushing  & Co.  — Berwick  & Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


PREFACE  TO  FIRST  EDITION 


My  aim  in  writing  this  book  has  been  to  present  in  brief 
outline  and  simple  form  the  methods  and  most  important 
results  of  experimental  psychology.  The  volume  contains 
the  substance  of  lectures  delivered  to  second  and  third 
year  classes  in  the  Cornell  University,  and  is  designed 
primarily  as  a text-book  for  those  who  attend  my  lecture 
courses.  I hope,  however,  that  its  sphere  of  usefulness 
may  extend  beyond  these  limits. 

The  plan  of  the  work  is  analytic.  It  sets  out  from  the 
consideration  of  the  simplest  factors  in  adult  mental  expe- 
rience, and  endeavours  gradually  to  build  up  the  actual 
mind  from  the  laws  of  these  simple  factors  and  their 
groupings.  After  a general  introduction  comes  a series 
of  four  chapters,  which  deal  with  the  elementary  conscious 
functions.  A second  series  discusses  those  complex  men- 
tal processes  which  are  easiest  of  analysis  and  lend  them- 
selves best  to  individual  treatment.  A third  series  deals 
' in  part  with  still  more  complicated  processes,  while  in  part 
it  pushes  the  analysis  of  previous  chapters  still  further. 
A concluding  section  surveys  the  results  of  the  whole 
enquiry,  and  indicates  the  point  at  which  psychology 
gives  place  to  metaphysics. 


VI 


Preface 


The  general  standpoint  of  the  book  is  that  of  the  tra- 
ditional English  psychology.  The  system  which  is  out- 
lined in  it,  however,  stands  also  in  the  closest  relation  to 
that  presented  in  the  more  advanced  treatises  of  the 
German  experimental  school,  Kiilpe’s  Outlines  of  Psycho- 
logy and  Wundt’s  Grundziige  der  physiologischen  Psycho- 
logic. While  I have  tried  to  make  the  present  work 
complete  in  itself,  I have  also  written  with  the  view  of 
producing  a book  which  should  be  preparatory  to  these 
standard  psychologies.  At  the  same  time  I have  not 
attempted  to  ‘ boil  down  ’ either  of  the  larger  works. 
The  facts  recorded  have  been  gathered  from  them  and 
from  many  other  sources,  to  which  I here  make  general 
acknowledgment,  — all  that  is  permitted  by  the  scope  of 
my  undertaking.  But  no  statements  in  the  text  have 
been  taken  upon  trust,  and  no  experiment  is  described 
which  I have  not  myself  performed. 

The  book  presupposes,  as  every  psychology  must,  a 
certain  amount  of  physical  and  physiological  knowledge 
on  the  part  of  the  reader.  I have,  however,  reduced  this 
amount  to  as  small  a compass  as  possible,  and  do  not 
think  that  any  question  will  arise  which  cannot  be  cleared 
up  at  once  by  reference  to  an  elementary  physical  or 
physiological  text-book. 

The  subject-matter  has  throughout  been  broken  up  into 
sections ; so  that  if  it  is  desired  to  employ  the  book  for  a 
shorter  course  than  that  for  which  it  has  been  designed,  it 
is  only  necessary  to  select  the  more  important  passages  and 
ignore  the  rest.  Thus  it  is  possible  to  omit  §§  3,  5 and  6 
of  Chapter  I ; §§  8 and  11  of  Chapter  II;  §21  and  others 


Preface 


vii 


of  Chapter  III ; the  whole  of  Chapter  IV,  etc.,  as  well  as 
to  curtail  the  remaining  sections  by  neglecting  some  of  the 
descriptions  of  method  and  other  supplementary  remarks. 

I owe  a heavy  debt  of  gratitude  to  Miss  E.  B.  Talbot,  a 
member  of  my  graduate  seminary,  and  to  my  colleagues, 
Drs.  D.  Irons  and  W.  B.  Pillsbury,  for  constant  advice 
and  assistance  during  the  preparation  of  the  work.  I have 
further  to  thank  President  J.  G.  Schurman  for  valuable 
suggestions  with  regard  to  the  earlier  chapters,  and  Miss 
C.  S.  Parrish  and  my  wife  for  help  upon  many  special 
points.  The  ten  figures  in  the  text  (some  of  which  are 
adapted  from  other  works)  were  kindly  drawn  for  me  by 
Professor  H.  D.  Williams. 

Cornell  University,  Ithaca,  N.  Y. 

June  I,  1896. 


PREFACE  TO  SECOND  EDITION 

The  text  of  this  second  edition  differs  in  several  minor 
points  from  that  of  the  first.  Changes  have  been  made 
on  pp.  153,  179,  etc.  ; additions,  on  pp.  147,  223,  etc. 
§§  21  and  101  have  been  entirely  rewritten,  — the  former 
in  the  light  of  new  knowledge,  the  latter  in  deference  to 
what  seemed  valid  criticism. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  Professor  M.  W.  Easton,  Mr.  F.  C. 
S.  Schiller  and  my  wife  for  various  suggestions  and  cor- 
rections. 


Preface 


viii 

As  the  present  volume  may  find  readers  who  desire  to 
pursue  the  study  of  psychology  beyond  the  point  to  which 
it  takes  them,  but  have  no  adviser  at  hand  to  guide  them 
in  the  selection  of  works  for  further  reading,  I append  a 
short  list  of  the  books  which,  taken  together,  furnish  in 
my  opinion  the  best  exposition  of  the  science. 

The  student  will  do  well,  in  the  first  place,  to  read  Pro- 
fessor Sully ’si  The  Human  Mind}  For  collateral  reading 
of  a lighter  sort  he  may  turn  to  Professor  Wundt’s  Lectures 
on  Human  and  Animal  Psychology? 

Next  in  order  should  come  Professor  Kiilpe’s  Outlines 
of  Psychology ? Professor  James’  Principles  of  Psychology1 2 *  4 5 6 
and  Professor  Wundt’s  Grundziige  der physiologischen  Psy- 
chologic? The  latter  treatise  should  be  read  along  with 
the  same  author’s  briefer  Outlines  of  Psychology? 

The  works  of  James,  Kiilpe  and  Sully,  and  the  Physio- 
logical Psychology  of  Wundt,  give  copious  references  both 
to  the  monographic  literature  of  special  psychological  prob- 
lems and  to  other  current  text-books. 

Cornell  University. 

Feb.  9,  1897. 


1 London:  Longmans,  Green  & Co.;  New  York:  D.  Appleton  & Co. 

2 vols.  1892. 

2 London:  Swan  Sonnenschein  & Co.;  New  York:  The  Macmillan  Co. 
2d.  ed.  1896. 

8 London : Swan  Sonnenschein  & Co.;  New  York:  The  Macmillan  Co. 
1895. 

4 London:  Macmillan  & Co. ; New  York  : H.  Holt  & Co.  2 vols.  1890. 

5 Leipzig:  W.  Engelmann.  2 vols.  1893.  Trans,  in  preparation. 

6 London  : Williams  & Norgate;  New  York:  G.  E.  Stechert.  1897. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER  I 

The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

PAGE 

§ i.  The  Beginnings  of  Psychology i 

§ 2.  The  Definition  of  Psychology  .......  3 

§ 3.  Mental  Process,  Consciousness  and  Mind  .....  9 

§ 4.  The  Problem  of  Psychology  . . . . . . .12 

§ 5.  The  Subdivisions  of  Psychology . . . . . . 17 

§ 6.  External  Aids  to  Psychology  . . . . . . .21 

PART  I 

CHAPTER  II 

Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element.  The  Method  of 
Investigating  Sensation 

§ 7.  The  Definition  of  Sensation  .......  26 

§ 8.  The  Attributes  of  Sensation  .......  29 

§ 9.  The  Method  of  Investigating  Sensation  . . . . -32 

§ 10.  General  Rules  for  the  Introspection  of  Sensation  ...  37 

§11.  The  Classification  of  Sensations  . . . ...  .42 

CHAPTER  III 
The  Quality  of  Sensation 
I.  Sensations  of  Special  Sense 

§ 12.  The  Quality  of  Visual  Sensations  . . , . . 45 

§ 13.  The  Quality  of  Auditory  Sensations  . ....  50 

ix 


X 


Contents 


PAGE 

§ 14.  The  Quality  of  Olfactory  Sensations 53 

§ 15.  The  Quality  of  Gustatory  Sensations  ......  54 

§ 1 6.  The  Quality  of  Cutaneous  Sensations 36 

II.  Organic  Sensations 

§ 17.  The  Quality  of  Muscular,  Tendinous  and  Articular  Sensations  . 59 

§18.  The  Quality  of  Alimentary  Sensations  .....  62 

§ 19.  The  Quality  of  the  Circulatory,  Respiratory  and  Sexual  Sensations  63 

§ 20.  The  Quality  of  the  Static  Sense  . . . . . 63 

§ 21.  Pain  ...........  65 

§ 22.  The  Total  Number  of  Elementary  Sensations  ....  66 

CHAPTER  IV 

The  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration  of  Sensation 

§ 23.  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration  as  Attributes  of  Sensation  . . 68 

§ 24.  The  Minimal  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration  of  Sensation  . . 70 

§ 25.  The  Maximal  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration  of  Sensation  . . 74 

§ 26.  The  Relation  of  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration  to  Quality  of 

Sensation  ..........  76 

§ 27.  Weber’s  Law 78 

§ 28.  Eye  Measurement  .........  82 

§ 29.  The  Time  Sense  .........  84 

§ 30.  The  Meaning  of  Weber’s  Law  .......  87 

CHAPTER  V 

Affection  as  a Conscious  Element.  The  Methods  of 
Investigating  Affection 

§ 31.  The  Definition  of  Affection 92 

§ 32.  Affection  and  Sensation  ....  . . . 94 

§ 33.  The  Methods  of  Investigating  Affection  .....  101 

§ 34.  The  Attributes  of  Affection  .......  105 


Contents 


xi 


CHAPTER  VI 
Conation  and  Attention 

PAGE 

§ 35.  Bodily  Tendency  and  Mental  Constitution  .....  109 

§36.  The  Question  of  a Third  Conscious  Element  . . . .116 

§ 37.  Conation  . . . . . . . . . . .120 

§38.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Attention  . . . . . .125 

§ 39.  The  Attributes  of  Attention  .......  1 35 

§40.  The  Degree  of  Attention  . . . . . . . 137 

§ 41.  The  Duration  of  Attention  .......  140 

§ 42.  The  Range  of  Attention  ........  144 

PART  II 

CHAPTER  VII 
Perception  and  Idea 

§ 43.  Sensation,  Perception  and  Idea  .......  148 

I.  Extensive  Ideas 

§ 44.  Locality  or  Position  . . . . . . . . .154 

§ 45.  P'orm  and  Magnitude  . . . . . . . .163 

§ 46.  Extent  of  Movement  . . . . . . . . .168 

II.  Temporal  Ideas  ' 

§ 47.  Rhythm 172 

§48.  Rate  of  Movement  . . . . . . . . *174 

III.  Qualitative  Ideas 

§ 49.  Clangs 176 

§ 50.  Melody  ...........  180 

§ 51.  The  Function  of  the  Idea  ........  183 

CHAPTER  VIII 
The  Association  of  Ideas 

§52.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Association  .....  188 

§ 53.  Simultaneous  Association  ........  191 


Contents 


xii 

PAGE 

§ 54.  Successive  Association  ........  202 

§ 55.  The  Law  of  Association  ........  207 

CHAPTER  IX 
Feeling  and  Emotion 

§56.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Feeling  ......  213 

§ 57.  The  Nature  of  Emotion  ........  219 

§ 58.  The  Forms  of  Emotion  ........  221 

§ 59.  The  Expression  of  the  Emotions  ......  224 

§ 60.  Mood,  Passion  and  Temperament  ......  230 

CHAPTER  X 

Voluntary  Movement.  The  Analysis  of  Action 

§ 61.  The  Nature  of  Action  ........  234 

§ 62.  The  Beginnings  of  Voluntary  Action  ......  238 

§ 63.  The  Nature  of  Impulsive  Action  ......  240 

§ 64.  The  Place  of  Impulse  in  Consciousness  .....  244 

§ 65.  The  Forms  of  Impulse  . . ...  . . . . 246 

§ 66.  Reflex  Action  ..........  248 

§ 67.  Instinctive  Action  .........  250 

§ 68.  Selective,  Volitional  and  Automatic  Action  ....  254 

§ 69.  Inaction  ...........  258 

PART  III 

CHAPTER  XI 

Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

§ 70.  The  Nature  of  Recognition  .......  261 

§ 71.  The  Forms  of  Recognition  .......  263 

§ 72.  Recognition  and  Cognition  .......  266 

§ 73.  The  Investigation  of  Recognition  ......  268 


Contents 


§ 74.  Recognition  and  Memory  ....... 

§ 75.  The  Memory-Idea  ........ 

§ 76.  Retention  ......... 

§ 77.  Memory  and  Cognition  ....... 

§ 78.  The  Investigation  of  Memory  . . . . 

§ 79.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Imagination  .... 

§ 80.  Illusions  of  Recognition  and  Memory  .... 

CHAPTER  XII 

Self-Consciousness  and  Intellection 

§ 81.  Self-Consciousness  ........ 

§ 82.  Intellection  ......... 

§ 83.  The  Formation  of  Concepts  ...... 

§ 84.  Reasoning  ......... 

§ 85.  Comparison  or  Discrimination,  and  Abstraction  . 

CHAPTER  XIII 
Sentiment 

^ 86.  The  Nature  of  Sentiment  ....... 

§ 87.  The  Forms  of  Sentiment  ....... 

§ 88.  The  ^Esthetic  Sentiments  . . .... 

§89.  The  Basis  of  .Esthetic  Sentiment 

§ 90.  The  Intellectual  Sentiments  ...... 

§91.  The  Social  or  Ethical  and  the  Religious  Sentiments  . 

CHAPTER  XIV 

The  Synthesis  of  Action.’  The  Reaction  Experiment 

§ 92.  The  Synthesis  of  Action  ....... 

§ 93.  The  Simple  Reaction  ....... 

§ 94.  The  Discrimination  Reaction  and  the  Cognition  Reaction  . 

§ 95.  The  Choice  Reaction  ....... 

§ 96.  The  Automatic  Reaction  ....... 

§ 97.  The  Function  of  the  Reaction  Experiment 
§ 98.  The  Association  Reaction  ....... 


Xlll 

PAGE 

270 

271 

275 

278 

278 

282 

285 

287 

293 

294 

299 

301 

3°4 

306 

307 

312 

3i5 

3i7 

3i9 

323 

328 

33° 

332 

333 

335 


XIV 


Contents 


CONCLUSION 

CHAPTER  XV 

The  Ultimate  Nature  of  Mind.  Mind  and  Body. 

• PAGE 

§ 99.  The  Mind  of  Psychology  ........  339 

§ 100.  Mind  and  Body  .........  342 

§ 101.  The  Mind  of  Metaphysics  .......  344 


INDEX 


347 


AN  OUTLINE  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 


INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER  I 

The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

§ i.  The  Beginnings  of  Psychology.  — Knowledge  is  the 
product  of  leisure.  The  members  of  a very  primitive 
society  have  no  time  to  amass  knowledge ; their  days 
are  fully  occupied  with  the  provision  of  the  bare  neces- 
sities of  life.  But  as  soon  as  a community  begins  to 
accumulate  wealth,  and  so  becomes  able  to  support  a 
leisured  class  (priests,  instructors  of  rich  men’s  children), 
an  opportunity  is  created  for  those  who  desire  knowledge 
to  devote  their  lives  to  its  acquirement. 

Out  of  this  ‘ curiosity  to  know  ’ science  is  born.  Men 
look  out  upon  the  world,  and  see  that  it  is  full  of  objects 
which  call  for  investigation.  Inanimate  nature  is  made  to 
reveal  her  secrets  ; laws  are  discovered  in  the  fall  of  the 
stone,  the  ebb  and  flow  of  water,  the  spread  of  colours  in 
'the  rainbow : physics,  the  ‘ mother  of  the  sciences,’  has 
arisen.  Birds  and  beasts  and  fishes  have  their  special 
habits  and  their  special  structure,  the  observation  of 
which  is  the  starting-point  of  zoology.  Physics  and 
zoology,  and  indeed  all  the  sciences,  find  their  source 
in  analysis.  What  at  first  seems  simple,  is  shown  by 


2 


The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 


careful  observation  to  be  compound,  and  is  split  up  into 
more  simple  parts ; these,  in  their  turn,  into  still  sim- 
pler ; and  so  on,  — until  the  science  has  reached  its  ele- 
ments, the  simplest  things  or  processes  which  belong  to 
it,  things  and  processes  which  cannot  be  further  reduced 
or  more  minutely  subdivided. 

The  first  analysis  is  always  analysis  of  the  outward, 
the  external.  Just  as  the  infant  (whose  history  is  the 
history  of  the  human  race,  epitomised,  condensed  into 
half-a-dozen  years)  gets  its  earliest  experiences  in  the 
form  of  experiences  of  the  things  or  objects  about  it 


and  only  after  a time  attains  to  self-experience,  or  comes 


to  speak  of  itself  as  ‘ I,’  so  mankind  at  large,  at  that 
primitive  stage  of  their  development  which  we  are  now 
considering,  were  attracted  to  the  study  of  nature  and 
of  natural  objects.  “ The  understanding,”  says  Locke, 
— and  he  might  have  used  a word  of  wider  significance, 
and  said  the  ‘ mind,’  the  understanding  or  the  mind, 
“ like  the  eye,  while  it  makes  us  see  and  perceive  all 
other  things,  takes  no  notice  of  itself ; and  it  requires 
art  and  pains  to  set  it  at  a distance,  and  make  it  its 
own  object.” 

Let  us  suppose,  however,  that  this  knowledge  of  nature 
has  advanced  a certain  distance ; that  the  physicist  or 
zoologist  has  collected  a large  number  of  observations  and 
arranged  them  to  his  satisfaction.  It  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  he  will  henceforth  cease  to  desire  knowledge ; for  the 
more  we  know,  the  more  do  we  wish  to  know,  “ as  if 
increase  of  appetite  had  grown  by  what  it  fed  on.”  He 
will  rather  seek  to  enlarge  the  boundaries  of  his  know- 
ledge ; to  discover  new  facts,  of  a different  order  from 
those  which  he  has  hitherto  studied.  And  at  this  point 


§§  1,2.  Beginnings  and  Definition  of  Psychology  3 

the  thought  may  very  well  occur  to  him,  How  is  it  that  I 
can  discover  facts  at  all  ? The  facts  are  one  thing : he 
himself,  who  desires  to  know  about  the  facts,  and  who  is 
able  to  understand  and  interpret  them,  is  another.  Hence 
he  may  come  to  believe  that  it  is  worth  his  while  to 
enquire  about  himself,  just  as  he  has  been  enquiring  about 
things.  “Art  and  pains,”  it  is  true,  are  demanded  of 
him ; but  the  art  achieved  may  be  judged  worth  the  pains 
to  be  taken  for  its  achievement.  “ Whatever  be  the  diffi- 
culties that  lie  in  the  way  of  this  enquiry,”  so  Locke  goes 
on,  “ sure  I am  that  all  the  light  we  can  let  in  upon  our 
own  minds,  all  the  acquaintance  we  can  make  with  our 
own  understandings,  will  not  only  be  very  pleasant,  but 
bring  us  great  advantage.”  Now  when  the  enquiry  has 
been  started,  when  the  question  has  been  asked  as  to  the 
difference  between  oneself  and  the  things  outside  oneself, 
philosophy  has  sprung  into  being,  — and  with  philosophy, 
psychology. 

Psychology,  then,  is  a late  development  of  human 
knowledge ; it  does  not  appear  until  the  sciences  of  nature 
have  made  some  progress.  And  these  sciences  them- 
selves cannot  take  shape  until  mankind  has  attained  a 
certain  stage  of  civilisation. 

§ 2.  The  Definition  of  Psychology.  — Philosophy  began 
as  a body  of  reflective  knowledge  in  which  no  sharp  line 
of  distinction  was  drawn  between  one  department  of 
thought  and  another.  Yet  it  contained  from  the  first  the 
germs  of  many  sciences  which  should  later  be  sharply 
separated.  To-day  we  hardly  use  the  general  name 
‘ philosopher  ’ ; we  speak  of  the  ‘ logician  ’ or  the  ‘ moral- 
ist ’ or  the  ‘ metaphysician  ’ ; and  if  we  employ  the  word 
‘ philosophy,’  we  think  of  it  as  comprising  a number  of 


4 The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

special  sciences  or  disciplines ; ontology,  ethics,  episte- 
mology, etc.  It  is  with  one  of  the  special  philosophical 
disciplines  — psychology  — that  we  are  here  concerned. 

Every  one  knows  in  a rough  way  what  it  is  that  psy-  A 
chology  deals  with.  It  treats  of  ‘ mind  ’ and  ‘ conscious- 
ness,’ and  of  the  laws  of  mind  and  consciousness.  My 
‘ mind  ’ is  that  in  me  which  thinks,  understands,  reasons, 
chooses,  directs  my  actions.  And  my  ‘ consciousness  ’ is 
my  inner  knowledge  of  my  thought  and  action : I am 
‘ conscious  ’ of  the  awkwardness  of  my  movements,  or  of 
the  correctness  of  my  answer  to  an  examination  question. 

In  these  senses,  the  words  ‘ mind  ’ and  ‘ consciousness  ’ 
are  familiar  to  all  of  us. 

Now  it  is  quite  true  that  psychology  deals  with  mind 
and  consciousness,  and  with  their  laws.  But  it  often 
happens  that  the  scientific  use  of  words  is  different  from 
their  popular  or  ordinary  use.  Thus  the  word  ‘ law  ’ 
means,  in  everyday  language,  an  ordinance  or  regulation 
imposed  by  authority  ; whereas,  in  the  language  of  natural 
science,  it  means  simply  a regularity  or  unbroken  uni- 
formity of  natural  events.  It  should  not  be  surprising, 
then,  that  the  ‘ mind  ’ and  ‘ consciousness  ’ of  psycho- 
logical science  differ  a little  in  their  meanings  from  the 
‘ mind  ’ and  ‘ consciousness  ’ of  our  daily  conversation. 
We  shall  see,  later  on,  that  the  current  usage  of  the 
words  is  metaphysical  as  well  as  psychological. 

It  will,  perhaps,  be  easiest  for  us  to  get  rid  of  our  pre- 
conceived opinions  as  to  the  meanings  of  these  familiar 
terms,  if  we  have  before  us,  from  the  very  outset,  a 
scientific  definition  of  psychology,  and  postpone  for  the 
present  our  discussion  of  ‘ mind  ’ and  ‘ consciousness  ’ in 
their  technical  psychological  senses.  Psychology  may  be 


§ 2.  The  Definition  of  Psychology 


5 


defined  as  the  science  of  mental  processes.  Each  of  the 
three  terms  included  in  the  definition  requires  a brief 
explanation. 

A process  is  any  object  of  scientific  knowledge  which 
is  not  a ‘thing.’  A. ‘thing’  is  permanent,  relatively  un- 
changing, definitely  marked  off  from  other  things.  A 
process  is,  by  etymology,  a ‘moving  forward.’  It  is  a be- 
coming something, — a continuous  operation,  a progressive 
change,  which  the  scientific  observer  can  trace  throughout 
its  course.  It  melts  into  and  blends  with  operations  and 
changes  which  follow  and  precede  it.  Thus  the  chemist 
speaks  of  the  ‘ process  of  decomposition.’  The  changes 
which  constitute  decomposition  are  the  ‘ process  ’ ; the 
final  products  of  decomposition  are  ‘things.’  The  wear- 
ing away  of  a cliff  by  the  action  of  water  is  a process  ; 
the  rock  itself  is  a thing.  The  thing  ‘ is,’  here  or  there ; 
the  process  ‘takes  place.’  — Psychology  deals  always  with 
processes,  and  never  with  things. 

A mental  process  is  any  process,  falling  within  the 
range  of  our  experience,  in  the  origination  and  continu- 
ance of  which  we  are  ourselves  necessarily  concerned. 
Heat  is  a process.  But  heat,  regarded  simply  as  a 
‘ mode  of  motion,’  is  independent  of  us ; the  movement 
continues,  whether  or  not  we  are  present  to  sense  the 
heat.  When,  however,  heat  falls  within  our  sensible  ex- 
perience, we,-  the  experiencing  individuals,  have  something 
to  say  to  it ; it  is  what  it  is,  in  part  at  any  rate,  because 
of  us.  The  (physical)  movement  is  translated  by  us  into 
the  (psychological)  sensation  of  heat.  More  than  that : 
if  we  are  cold,  to  start  with,  the  same  physical  heat  will 
seem  hotter  to  us  than  it  would  have  done,  had  we  been 
warm.  This  heat  process,  then,  is  a mental  process.  Or 


6 


The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 


again : the  space  of  geometry  is  independent  of  us.  It 
has  its  laws,  which  hold  good  whether  we  know  them  or 
not.  But  space  may  be  a matter  of  our  experience,  and 
may  be  modified  by  our  experience.  “ I had  such  pleas- 
ant thoughts,”  we  may  say,  “that  the  road  seemed  much 
shorter  than  usual.”  This  space  is  a mental  process. 

— Psychology  deals  with  none  but  mental  processes. 

A science  is  a sum  of  knowledge  which  has  been  classi- 
fied and  arranged  under  certain  general  rules  and  com- 
prehensive laws  j it  is  coherent  and  unified  knowledge. 
We  may  know,  from  our  boyish  discoveries,  that  the 
eggs  of  some  gulls  and  some  plovers  are  speckled  with 
green  and  brown ; but  this  knowledge  is  not  scientific. 
It  becomes  scientific  when  we  include  it  in  the  know- 
ledge that  the  speckling  is  characteristic  of  the  eggs  of 
the  Laridse  and  Charadriidae ; and  when  we  use  it  to  link 
these  two  groups  together,  in  making  out  the  inter-re- 
lations and  lines  of  descent  of  the  different  bird  forms. 

— Psychology  is  not  a string  of  unconnected  observations, 

but  a science.  *' 

( i ) Objection  may  be  taken  to  tjje  statement^  thlit  the  subject- 
matter  of  psychology  consists  exclusively  of  processes.  All  the 
text-books  of  psychology,  it  may  be  said,  treat  of  ideas.  But 
ideas  are  stable,  permanent  ‘ things.’  I remember  now  the  large 
chestnut  tree  that  overshadowed  my  home  ; I have  an  idea  of  the 
tree.  The  idea  is  clear-cut,  separate  from  other  ideas  which  it 
may  call  up,  — the  ideas  of  the  house,  of  my  room  in  the  house, 
etc.  Does  not  its  permanence,  and  its  independence  of  other 
ideas,  make  it  a ‘ thing  ’ ? 

A close  examination  of  the  idea  or  mental  picture  of  the  tree 
shows  us  that  the  objection  is  not  well  founded.  The  idea  of  the 
tree  is  complex,  containing  a number  of  colours,  a number  of 
lights  and  shades,  a number  of  forms.  These  constituents  receive 


§ 2.  The  Definition  of  Psychology 


7 


varying  emphasis  during  the  time  of  our  attention  to  the  idea. 
Now  the  form  of  the  tree  is  uppermost  in  our  mind,  now  its 
shadow,  now  the  stickiness  of  its  buds,  now  some  incident  con- 
nected with  it,  — the  crashing  down  of  a snow-laden  branch, 
or  what  not.  ]The  idea  changes.  Again  : the  idea  of  the  tree 
differs  according  to  the  different  backgrounds  of  thought  upon 
which  it  appears.  It  may  be  suggested  to  us  by  the  pain  of  a 
bruise,  by  a patch  of  colours  in  a strange  landscape,  by  the  sough 
of  the  wind  on  a stormy  night,  etc.  It  is  not  the  same  in  these 
different  cases  : it  melts  to  some  extent  into  its  mental  background, 
and  is  continually  shifting  and  moving  upon  the  background.  Yet 
again  : the  idea  of  the  tree  need  not  always  be  a mental  picture, 
a visual  idea.  It  may  contain  the  ideas  of  words,  spoken  or 
heard ; certain  scents,  of  spring  or  autumn ; certain  remem- 
brances of  movement  or  pressure  or  resistance.  All  these  factors 
come  and  go,  change  places  and  vary  in  importance,  as  the  idea 
passes  through  the  mind.  The  idea  is  not  a thing  : it  does  not 
stand,  like  the  rock ; it  takes  place  or  goes  on,  like  the  action  of 
the  waves  upon  the  rock.  It  is  a process. 

Still,  it  is  always  the  idea  of  a tree.  Yes  : just  as  the  process  of 
decomposition  can  always  be  called  ‘ decomposition.’  The  name  is 
permanent  ( cf. , however,  § 53) ; but  the  name  is  only  one  factor  out 
of  the  whole  number  which  make  up  the  actual  mental  experience. 

(2)  It  is  impossible  to  give  at  the  outset  a complete  list  even 
of  the  typical  forms  of  mental  processes.  Every  item  of  our 
‘ inner  ’ experience  — every  idea,  desire,  resolve,  emotion,  impulse, 
train  of  thought,  action  — is  a mental  process  or  a complex  of 
mental  processes. 

(3)  That  psychology  is  a science  can  best  be  shown  by  an  illus- 
tration. Suppose  that  you  are  requested  to  draw  upon  a piece  of 
paper  a circle  of  the  apparent  size  of  the  full  moon.  The  words 
‘ draw  the  circle  ’ arouse  a number  of  ideas  in  your  mind  : you  think 
of  various  occasions  when  you  have  seen  the  moon,  you  look  to 
see  whether  the  pencil  is  properly  sharpened,  etc.  When  ideas 
are  connected  together  in  this  way,  each  growing  out  of  some  one 
that  has  preceded  it,  we  speak  of  a successive  association  of  ideas. 
But  there  is  'another  set  of  mental  processes  involved : those 


8 


The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 


aroused  by  the  gripping  of  the  pencil  and  its  movement  over 
the  surface  of  the  paper.  When  an  association  of  ideas  ends  with 
the  idea  of  bodily  movement,  and  this  is  followed  by  the  sensa- 
tions which  accompany  movement,  we  speak  of  the  total  experi- 
ence as  an  action.  The  request  to  draw  the  circle,  then,  may  be 
looked  upon  as  a problem  in  the  psychology  of  action. 

When  we  set  to  work  to  analyse  this  particular  action,  we  find 
that  the  circle  which  we  draw  is  the  final  result  of  a very  large 
number  of  tendencies  within  us  and  conditions  outside  of  us. 
Simple  as  the  request  is,  each  one  of  us  understands  it  in  his  own 
way ; and  easy  as  it  is  to  draw  a circle,  the  reasons  which  lead  to 
this  drawing  are  different  from  those  which  lead  to  all  the  others. 
Thus  one  of  us  may  draw  ‘ from  memory,’  while  another  has  to 
‘ imagine  ’ how  the  moon  looks.  And  drawing  from  memory  may 
be  of  two  kinds  : the  memory  may  be  visual  memory,  a remem- 
brance of  the  moon  as  she  appears  in  the  sky,  or  verbal  memory, 
a remembrance  of  a statement,  somewhere  heard  or  seen,  that  the 
moon  ‘ looks  as  large  as  a penny,’  or  ‘ as  large  as  a dinner  plate.’ 
Again  : individuals  differ  in  the  amount  of  practice  which  they 
have  had  in  ‘ drawing  from  memory,’  — i.e.,  in  the  translation  of 
an  idea  (the  remembered  moon)  into  the  movements  of  hand  and 
arm  necessary  to  reproduce  this  idea  upon  paper.  Again  : the 
attention  may  vary,  and  vary  in  two  ways,  during  the  drawing.  It 
may  vary  in  steadiness,  in  ‘ concentration  ’ : the  agent  may  be 
very  attentive  to  the  action,  alternately  attentive  and  inattentive,  or 
quite  inattentive.  It  may  also  vary  in  direction,  while  the  agent 
wonders  whether  the  size  of  the  circle  is  the  important  thing,  and 
neatness  may  be  neglected,  or  whether  the  figure  drawn  must  be 
an  exact  geometrical  circle  ; or  speculates  as  to  ‘ what  will  be  done 
with  ’ the  drawings  after  they  are  made. 

Memory,  practice  and  attention  are  only  some  of  the  subjec- 
tive factors  in  the  action,  factors  which  may  differ  in  different 
cases  because  of  differences  of  internal  tendency.  We  have  said 
nothing  at  all  of  a long  list  of  objective  factors,  due  to  conditions 
outside  of  us.  But  our  analysis,  imperfect  as  it  is,  is  sufficiently 
complete  to  indicate  two  points  : that  the  drawing  is,  as  was  stated 
just  now,  the  final  result  of  a large  number  of  influences ; and 


§ 3-  Mental  Process,  Consciousness  and  Mind  g 

that  these  influences  — whether  they  are  those  of  inner  tendency 
or  of  external  condition  — can  be  classified  and  arranged,  can  be 
separately  investigated  by  the  psychologist,  and  can  have  their  due 
weight  assigned  them  in  particular  instances.  The  possibility  of 
analysis  and  classification  shows  that  psychology  may  justly  lay 
claim  to  rank  as  a science. 

§ 3.  Mental  Process,  Consciousness  and  Mind.  — Psychol- 
ogy is  sometimes  defined,  technically  as  well  as  popularly, 
as  the  ‘ science  of  mind.’  The  psychologist  can  accept 
this  definition,  side  by  side  with  that  just  given,  if  ‘mind’ 
is  understood  to  mean  simply  the  sum  total  of  mental  pro- 
cesses experienced  by  the  individual  during  his  lifetime. 
Ideas,  feelings,  impulses,  etc.,  are  mental  processes ; the 
whole  number  of  ideas,  feelings,  impulses,  etc.,  experi- 
enced by  me  during  my  life  constitutes  my  ‘ mindd/'Mind , 
as  used  in  everyday  conversation,  means  much  more  than 
this : it  means  something  ‘ immaterial  ’ or  ‘ spiritual ,’ 
which  shows  itself  in  ideas  and  feelings,  but  is  really 
more  than  those  ideas  and  feelings,  — it  means  a some- 
thing which  ‘ lies  behind  ’ the  particular  manifestations  of 
our  mental  life,  just  as  the  thing  (table,  eg.)  seems  to 
lie  behind  the  attributes  of  the  thing  (the  roundness  or 
squareness,  size,  height,  etc.,  of  the  particular  table). 

/ Looked  at  in  this  way,  however,  the  term  ‘ mind  ’ takes 
on  metaphysical  implications,  and  therefore  has  no  place 
in  psychology.  The  question : Is  there  anything  behind 
the  mental  process,  any  permanent  mind  ? and  if  there  is, 
what  is  its  nature  ? — ■ is  a question  which  has  often  been 
asked,  and  which  it  is  well  worth  while  to  try  to  answer. 
But  it  is  not  a question  which  can  be  raised  by  psychology. 
Psychology  sees  in  mind  nothing  more  than  the  whole 
sum  of  mental  processes  experienced  in  a single  lifetime. 


io  The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

There  is,  however,  a great  difference  between  the  men- 
tal processes  of  childhood,  vigorous  manhood  and  old  age. 
When  we  speak  of  ‘ psychology,’  without  any  qualifying 
adjective,  we  are  usually  thinking  of  the  psychology  of 
the  average  human  being  who  has  passed  beyond  child- 
hood, but  has  not  yqt  become  enfeebled  by  age.  Mind, 
then,  as  ordinarily  regarded  by  the  psychologist,  is  the  sum 
total  of  mental  processes  experienced  during  this  middle 
stage  of  life.  No  definite  statement  can  be  made  as  to 
the  age  at  which  the  mind  of  the  child  passes  over  into 


Fig.  I.  — Mind,  represented  as  the  sum  total  of  mental 
processes  experienced  by  the  individual.  (For  the 
form  of  the  Fig.,  cf.  § 35;  for  processes  anterior  to 
birth,  cf.  § 63.) 

that  of  the  adult,  or  that  at  which  the  adult  mind  becomes 
senile. 

It  is  clear  that  mind  lasts  longer  than  any  single  men- 
tal process ; it  is  a sum  or  series  of  mental  processes.  It 
must  be  noted  further  that  the  processes  which  make 
up  mind  do  not  occur  one  by  one ; our  mental  experi- 
ence, even  in  moments  of  extreme  preoccupation  or  con- 
centration, is  complex.  As  you  read  this  page,  your 
mind  is  composed  of  a large  number  of  processes : the 
sense  of  the  printed  page ; satisfaction  or  dissatisfaction 
with  that  sense ; pressures  from  your  clothing,  chair,  etc. ; 
internal  sensations  and  feelings  which  make  up  your 
bodily  comfort  or  discomfort,  which  inform  you  of  the 
position  of  your  limbs,  etc.  ; probably  a medley  of  sounds 


§ 3-  Mental  Process,  Consciousness  and  Mind  1 1 

from  neighbouring  rooms  or  from  the  street,  and  so  on. 
Just  as  life  consists  of  a sum  of  simultaneous  processes, — 
secretion  and  excretion,  decomposition  and  recomposition, 
— so  mind  is  a stream  of  processes,  more  or  less  numer- 
ous, which  run  their  course  in  time  together. 

My  ‘ consciousness*  is  the  sum  of  mental  processes 
which  make  up  my  experience  now  ; it  is  the  mind  of  any 
given  ‘present’  time.  We  might,  perhaps,  consider  it  as 
a cross-section  of  mind.  This  section  may  be  either  arti- 
ficial or  natural.  We  may  deliberately  cut  across  mind, 
in  order  to  investigate  it  for  psychological  purposes.  We 
have  then  interfered  with  the  natural  succession  of  our 
mental  processes.  On  the  other  hand,  mind  falls  of  itself 
into  a series  of  consciousnesses,  each  separate  conscious- 
ness being  dominated  by  some  particular  group  of  pro- 
cesses. We  enter  a scientific  lecture  room  with  a science- 
consciousness  ; we  leave  it  with  a dinner-consciousness ; 
we  lay  down  the  day’s  work  with  a rest-consciousness. 
These  are  natural  divisions  of  mind ; they  are  not  so 
complete  and  radical  as  those  artificially  distinguished,  but 
they  are  sufficiently  independent  of  one  another  for  us  to 
recognise  their  existence  in  our  everyday  experience. 

The  artificial  consciousness  lasts,  as  a rule,  only  for  an 
instant.  We  make  our  section  of  mind,  glance  at  the  pro- 
cesses in  which  we  are  interested,  and  then  move  on  at 
once  to  a new  consciousness.  The  natural  consciousness 
varies  in  duration  from  a few  seconds  to  several  hours  or 
even  days.  If  a gun  is  fired  unexpectedly  outside  the  win- 
dow of  a room  in  which  I am  reading  an  interesting  novel, 
I have  a momentary  sound-consciousness,  which  immedi- 
ately relapses  into  the  story-consciousness.  But  if  I am 
anticipating  a great  joy  or  sorrow,  the  group  of  processes 


12  The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

which  constitutes  the  special  joy-consciousness  or  sorrow- 
consciousness  may  persist  for  some  length  of  time. 

The  natural  consciousness,  indeed,  differs  precisely  as 
the  time  which  we  speak  of  as  ‘ the  present  time  ’ differs. 
It  is  ‘ now  ’ for  the  whole  hour  that  we  spend  in  the  den- 
tist’s chair,  or  for  the  whole  afternoon  that  we  devote  to 
the  reading  of  a new  book.  For  the  runner  who  is  await- 
ing the  signal  to  start,  it  is  ‘ now  ’ only  for  two  or  three 
seconds.  Each  of  these  ‘ now’s  ’ in  mental  experience  is 
a natural  consciousness. 

Most  analogies  and  comparisons  are  in  some  respects  mislead- 
ing ; and  our  comparison  of  consciousness  to  a cross-section  of 
mind  is  no  exception  to  the  rule.  A cross-section  of  a group  of 
processes  will  show  (i)  cut  ends  (cross-sections  of  processes  act- 
ually cut  through),  and  (2)  ‘tails’  of  processes  which  are  just  dis- 
appearing. Now  when  we  examine  an  artificial  consciousness,  we 
never  look  at  cut  ends.  The  ‘ looking  at  ’ a process,  while  it  is 
running  its  course,  alters  the  process,  — - and  so  defeats  its  own 
object  (§  9).  The  only  processes  which  the  psychologist  can 
usefully  observe  are  those  which  are  just  vanishing  at  the  moment 
when  the  cross-section  is  taken. 

§ 4.  The  Problem  of  Psychology.  -^  The  aim  of  the  psy- 
chologist is  threefold.  He  seeks  (1)  to  analyse  concrete 
(actual)  mental  experience  into  its  simplest  components, 
(2)  to  discover  how  these  elements  combine,  what  are 
the  laws  which  govern  their  combination,  and  (3)  to  bring 
them  into  connection  with  their  physiological  (bodily) 
conditions..^" 

(1)  We  saw  above  that  all  science  begins  with  analysis. 
The  original  material  of  science  is  complex;  science  itself 
introduces  order  into  chaos  by  reducing  the  complex  to  its 
elements,  by  tracing  the  proportion  of  identical  elements 


§ 4-  The  Problem  of  Psychology  13 

in  different  complexes,  and  by  determining  (where  that  is 
possible)  the  relations  of  the  elements  to  one  another. 
Psychology  is  no  exception  to  the  rule.  Our  concrete 
mental  experience,  the  experience  of  ‘real  life,’  is  always 
complex.  However  small  a fragment  we  may  seize  upon, 
— a single  wish,  a single  idea,  a single  resolution,  — we 
find  invariably  that  close  inspection  of  it  will  reveal  its 
complexity,  will  show  that  it  is  composed  of  a number  of 
more  rudimentary  processes.  The  first  object  of  the  psy- 
chologist, therefore,  is  to  ascertain  the  nature  and  number 
of  the  mental  elements.  He  takes  up  mental  experience, 
bit  by  bit,  dividing  and  subdividing,  until  the  division  can 
go  no  further.  When  that  point  is  reached,  he  has  found 
a conscious  element. 

The  mental  or  conscious  elements  are  those  mental  processes 
which  cannot  be  further  analysed,  which  are  absolutely  simple  in 
nature,  and  which  consequently  cannot  be  reduced,  even  in  part, 
to  other  processes.  The  special  reasons  which  lead  the  psychol- 
ogist to  look  upon  various  special  processes  as  elements  will  be 
discussed  in  their  places,  in  following  chapters. 

We  have  already  seen  that  an  ‘ idea  ’ is  a complex  process. 
We  may  here  illustrate  the  complexity  of  concrete  mental  experi- 
ences by  examining  an  experience  of  a different  order,  — say,  an 
emotion.  The  emotion  of  anger  seems,  at  first  sight,  to  be  a 
single  experience ; it  has  a single  name.  Really,  it  is  highly  com- 
plex. It  contains,  e.g.,  the  idea  of  the  person  with  whom  one  is 
angry ; the  idea  of  the  act  of  his,  at  which  one  is  displeased;  the 
idea  of  a retaliatory  action  on  one’s  own  part;  a mass  of  bodily 
sensations,  attending  the  flushing  of  one’s  face,  the  tendency  to 
clench  the  fist,  the  bracing  of  the  whole  muscular  system,  — one 
‘ feels  stronger  ’ when  angry.  It  begins  with  a feeling  of  dis- 
pleasure, of  pained  surprise  or  wounded  pride ; but  this  soon 
gives  way  to  the  pleasantness  of  anger  itself,  the  delight  in  the 
idea  of  retaliation  and  in  the  fact  that  one  is  strong  enough  to 


14  The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

retaliate,  — a delight  that  has  come  down  to  civilised  man  from 
his  primitive  ancestors,  and  that  shows  itself  continually  in  the 
actions  of  the  child.  These  processes  — themselves  by  no  means 
simple  — all  take  part,  crossing  and  recrossing,  shifting  and  recom- 
bining, in  the  emotion.  They  need  not  all  be  present  together 
in  the  angry  consciousness  of  a given  moment  ] but  all  have  their 
share  in  the  experience  of  anger. 

(2)  Analysis  needs  to  be  tested  in  two  ways.  We  must 
always  ask,  with  regard  to  it : Has  it  gone  as  far  as  it  can 
go  ? and  : Has  it  taken  account  of  all  the  elements  which 
are  contained  in  the  experience?  To  answer  the  first 
question,  the  analysis  must  be  repeated : analysis  is  its 
own  test.  When  one  psychologist  says  that  a process  is 
elemental,  other  psychologists  repeat  his  analysis  for  them- 
selves, trying  to  carry  it  further  than  he  could  do.  If 
they  stop  short  where  he  did,  he  was  right ; if  they  find 
his  ‘ simple  process  to  be  complex,  he  was  wrong.  As 
regards  the  second  question,  on  the  other  hand,  the  test  of 
analysis  is  synthesis.  When  we  have  analysed  a complex 
into  the  elements  a,  b,  c,  we  test  our  analysis  by  trying  to 
put  it  together  again,  to  get  it  back  from  a,  b and  c.  If 
the  complex  can  be  thus  restored,  the  analysis  is  correct ; 
but  if  the  combination  of  a,  b and  c does  not  give  us  back 
the  original  complex,  the  analyst  has  failed  to  discover 
some  one  or  more  of  its  ingredients.  Hence  the  psy- 
chologist, when  he  has  analysed  consciousness,  must  put 
together  the  results  of  his  analysis,  must  synthetise,  and 
compare  his  reconstruction  of  mental  experience  with  the 
experience  as  originally  given.  If  the  two  tally,  his  work 
on  that  mental  experience  is  done,  and  he  can  pass  on  to 
another ; if  not,  he  must  repeat  his  analysis,  watching  con- 
stantly for  the  factors  which  he  had  previously  missed. 


§ 4-  The  Problem  of  Psychology 


15 


If  the  conscious  elements  were  ‘things,’  the  task  of 
reconstruction  of  an  experience  would  not  be  difficult. 
We  should  put  the  simple  bits  of  mind  together,  as  the 
bits  of  wood  are  put  together  in  a child’s  puzzle-map  or 
kindergarten  cube.  But  the  conscious  elements  are  ‘ pro- 
cesses ’ : they  do  not  fit  together,  side  to  side  and  angle  to 
angle ; they  flow  together,  mix  together,  overlapping,  rein- 
forcing, modifying  or  arresting  one  another,  in  obedience 
to  certain  psychological  laws.  The  psychologist  must, 
therefore,  in  the  second  place,  seek  to  ascertain  the  laws 
which  govern  the  connection  of  the  mental  elements. 
Knowledge  of  these  laws  renders  the  synthesis  of  ele- 
ments into  a concrete  experience  possible,  and  is  of  assist- 
ance also  in  subsequent  analysis. 

When  we  try  for  the  first  time  to  analyse  anger,  we  may  very 
easily  overlook  the  fourth  factor  mentioned  above,  — the  mass  of 
sensations  accompanying  the  flush  of  anger,  the  doubling  of  the 
fist,  etc.  We  discover  that  we  have  omitted  something,  however, 
as  soon  as  ever  we  put  together  the  ingredients  which  we  have 
noticed,  and  ask  if  they  actually  make  up  the  experience  of  anger, 
and  if  they  exhaust  all  that  we  ‘ feel  ’ when  we  are  angry.  Some- 
thing is  still  lacking.  This  discovery'  shows  us  that  the  processes 
which  our  analysis  has  brought  to  light  must  somehow  have  ob- 
scured certain  other  processes,  connected  with  them  in  the  actual 
emotion.  We  have  now,  therefore,  to  repeat  our  analysis,  keep- 
ing a sharp  lookout  for  the  missing  processes : we  shall  do  well  to 
try  to  analyse  some  other  emotions,  since  the  processes  which  are 
obscure  in  anger  may,  perhaps,' come  to  the  front  in  them.  After 
many  trials  we  find  what  the  lacking  something  is ; and  our  syn- 
thesis is  satisfactory.  At  this  stage  we  note  carefully  the  manner 
in  which  the  items  which  we  missed  at  first  are  connected  with 
the  other  processes  in  anger, — we  seek  to  determine  how  they 
could  have  been  obscured  so  completely  by  the  other  processes. 
And  having  made  a large  number  of  similar  notes,  and  compared 


1 6 The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

them  methodically,  we  are  finally  able  to  write  out  a law  of  mental 
combination  or  connection.  When  we  have  our  law,  we  can 
apply  it  in  difficult  cases  as  they  occur,  and  so  gain  help  in  our 
later  analyses. 

(3)  Every  mental  process  is  connected  with  a bodily 
process  ; we  do  not  know  anything  of  mind  apart  from 
body.  Mind  and  body,  that  is,  always  go  together  in  our 
experience.  And  ordinary  observation  will  convince  us 
that  body  influences  mind  in  various  ways.  Consciousness 
when  the  eyes  are  closed  is  different  from  consciousness 
when  the  eyes  are  open ; if  the  bodily  state  varies,  the 
mental  state  varies  also ; the  dropping  of  the  eyelids  pre- 
vents the  ether  waves  from  gaining  access  to  the  sensitive 
parts  of  the  eyes,  and  with  this  physical  fact  go  the  men- 
tal facts  of  the  sensation  of  darkness,  the  ‘ feeling  ’ of 
bodily  unsteadiness  and  uncertainty,  etc.  The  mind  of  a 
man  who  has  been  blind  from  his  birth  is  essentially  dif- 
ferent from  the  mind  of  one  endowed  with  normal  vision. 
Where  the  latter  sees,  the  former  hears  and  touches  : I 
see  my  path,  but  the  blind  man  hears  and  ‘ feels ' his  way. 
Even  the  highest  and  most  abstract  processes  of  thought 
"^ive  evidence  of  the  close  connection  of  mind  with  body. 
We  cannot  think,  unless  we  have  ideas  in  which  to  think; 
and  ideas  are  built  up  from  impressions  received  through 
bodily  sense-organs^*  Thus  most  of  us  remember,  imagine, 
dream,  and  think  in  terms  of  sight.  When  we  remember 
an  event,  we  see  it  occurring  ‘ in  our  mind’s  eye  ’ ; when 
we  ‘ imagine  ’ an  experience,  we  have  a mental  ‘ image  ’ 
of  it,  we  seem  to  see  it  take  place ; when  we  dream,  we 
ordinarily  see  ourselves  or  our  friends  engaged  in  this 
action  or  in  that ; and  when  we  think,  we  often  see  the 
words  in  which  we  are  thinking,  as  if  they  were  printed  or 


§§  4»  5-  The  Problem  and  Subdivisions  of  Psychology  17 

written  on  an  imagined  page.  Psychology  is  not  com- 
plete, then,  until  we  have  brought  the  results  of  our  analy- 
sis of  mental  experience,  the  mental  elements,  into  con- 
nection with  the  bodily  structures  and  functions  which 
condition  them.  - 

Put  in  another  way,  the  problem  of  psychology  may  be  said 
to  consist  in  the  description  and  explanation  of  mental  pro- 
cesses. Exact  description  implies  analysis  and  synthesis ; you 
cannot  describe  accurately  unless  you  have  taken  the  object  of 
your  description  to  pieces,  observed  it  in  all  its  parts,  and  then 
replaced  the  parts  and  reconstructed  the  whole.  When  we  have 
described,  we  can  go  on  to  explain,  to  state  the  circumstances 
under  which  the  process  takes  place.  Explanation  is  always  that : 
the  statement  of  the  circumstances  or  conditions  under  which  the 
described  phenomenon  occurs.  The  conditions  of  mental  pro- 
cesses are  partly  mental  and  partly  bodily  : the  laws  of  mental 
connection,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  laws  (functions)  of  certain 
bodily  structures  on  the  other. 

The  psychologist  has  to  pull  mental  experience  to  pieces,  — to 
put  it  together  again,  — and  to  note  what  happens  to  the  partic- 
ular processes  involved,  and  what  goes  on  in  the  body  while  the 
experience  is  in  progress.  This  is  the  ‘ problem  ’ of  psychology. 

§ 5.  The  Subdivisions  of  Psychology.  — The  psychology 
which  we  defined  in  § 2 may  be  termed  general  psychol- 
ogy. It  includes  many  special  branches  of  psychological 
enquiry  with  which  we  shall  not  be  directly  concerned  in 
this  book.  The  psychology  of  which  we  shall  treat  is  nor- 
mal, adult,  human,  individual  psychology. 

(1)  Human  psychology  confines  itself  to  the  human 
consciousness,  and  is  thus  distinguished  from  animal  psy- 
chology, which  describes  and  seeks  to  explain  the  mental 
processes  of  the  lower  animals.  Human  and  animal  psy- 
chology are  included  together  under  the  single  name  com- 
c 


1 8 The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

parative  psychology.  The  comparative  psychologist  uses 
the  results  of  his  study  of  the  animal  mind  to  throw  light 
upon  the  mental  processes  of  man,  by  comparison  of  each 
body  of  observed  facts  with  the  other. 

(2)  Individual  psychology  leaves  out  of  account  the 
material  dealt  with  by  social  psychology.  The  social  psy- 
chologist examines  the  mental  experience  of  groups  of 
individuals  (societies),  as  manifested  in  their  myths,  lan- 
guage, customs,  etc.  Mythology  is,  as  it  were,  a collection 
of  fossil  beliefs,  all  of  which  were  once  living  processes 
in  the  minds  of  individuals.  Language,  again,  may  be 
called  fossil  thought.  ‘ Blue  ’ is  the  colour  of  the  ‘ blow- 
ing ’ wind  ; ‘ green  ’ the  colour  of  ‘ growing  ’ vegetation. 
A knowledge  of  these  and  similar  relations  between  words 
helps  us  to  understand  how  our  ancestors  thought.  In 
the  same  way,  custom  is  very  often  a fossil  expression  of 
some  emotion  or  sentiment ; our  customary  greetings  and 
salutations,  eg.,  are  expressions  of  the  sentiment  of  rev- 
erence. The  study  of  the  social  psychology  of  primitive 
or  savage  races  is  termed  anthropological  psychology. 

(3)  We  distinguish  adult  psychology  from  child  psychol- 
ogy, which  discusses  the  working  of  the  child’s  mind  at 
different  stages  of  its  development,  and  the  way  in  which 
it  passes  over  into  the  adult  mind.  The  study  of  the 
child  and  animal  minds  is  sometimes  termed  the  study 
of  psychogenesis  (mind-growth). 

(4)  Normal  psychology  takes  no  account  of  the  facts 
of  mental  pathology.  Mental  pathology  deals  with  all  that 
is  irregular  or  unusual  in  the  human  consciousness  : with 
the  various  forms  of  mental  derangement  (insanity),  with 
the  temporary  lapse  of  consciousness  in  sleep  and  the 
changes  which  it  undergoes  in  dreaming,  with  the  hyp- 


§ 5-  The  Subdivisions  of  Psychology  19 

notic  consciousness  (the  phenomena  of  suggestion),  and 
with  the  senile  mind  (gradual  loss  of  memory  with  ad- 
vancing age,  etc.). 

This  long  list  of  excluded  branches  of  psychological  enquiry 
may  lead  the  reader  to  suppose  that  our  own  psychology  is  but 
a small,  and  perhaps  not  the  most  important  part  of  general 
psychology.  The  supposition  would  be  incorrect.  Animal  psy- 
chology is  still  in  its  infancy ; child  psychology  is  hardly  farther 
advanced  (cf.  the  following  Section)  ; while  social  psychology  is 
not  much  more  than  a programme  for  the  future.  Mental  pathol- 
ogy has  made  better  progress  : and  we  shall  appeal  to  it  for 
illustration,  wherever  its  discoveries  help  us  to  understand  the 
workings  of  the  normal  mind.  Our  references  to  animal,  child 
and  social  psychology  will  necessarily  be  less  numerous : there 
are  fewer  established  facts  for  us  to  refer  to. 

Other  words  or  phrases  which  may  usefully  be  defined 
here  are  ‘experimental  psychology,’  ‘physiological  psychol- 
ogy,’ and  ‘psychophysics.’  (1)  Experimental  psychology 
insists  that  the  psychological  method  of  introspection  (§  9) 
shall  be  employed  under  ‘ experimental  ’ conditions ; that 
is,  under  conditions  which  reduce  the  possibility  of  mis- 
takes to  a minimum,  and  which  enable  one  enquirer  to 
test  or  check  the  work  of  another  by  exactly  repeating 
it  for  himself  (see  §§  9,  10).  It  is  the  psychology  of 
which  we  shall  treat  in  the  present  work.  It  is  some- 
times called  ‘ modern  ’ psychology,  or  ‘ the  new  ’ psychol- 
ogy, to  distinguish  it  from  the  merely  ‘ descriptive  ’ psy- 
chology which  was  current  before  experiment  had  been 
applied  to  mental  processes.  (2)  Physiological  psychology 
is  both  wider  and  narrower  than  experimental  psychology. 
It  is  wider,  in  that  it  demands  a detailed  knowledge  of 
certain  parts  of  physiology  (the  physiology  of  the  central 


20  The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

nervous  system  and  of  the  sense-organs  attached  to  it); 
and  it  is  narrower,  in  that  it  employs  no  methods  of  inves- 
tigation except  those  which  are  followed  in  the  physio- 
logical laboratory.  ‘ Psychophysiology  ’ covers  the  same 
ground  as  physiological  psychology,  but  (as  the  name  im- 
plies) lays  more  stress  upon  the  physiological  aspect  of 
its  subject-matter  than  upon  the  psychological.  (3)  Psy- 
chophysics is  the  science  of  the  relation  of  mind  to  body. 
It  lays  precisely  equal  weight  upon  the  mental  process 
and  the  bodily  process  connected  with  it.  The  psycho- 
physicist desires  to  know  exactly  how  mind  is  related  to 
body,  and  body  to  mind.  He  gets  his  facts  or  data  both 
from  the  psychologist  (number  and  nature  of  the  mental 
elements,  laws  of  mental  connection)  and  the  anatomist 
and  physiologist  (structure  and  function  of  the  various 
parts  and  organs  of  the  body).  His  aim  is  to  bring  the 
two  sets  of  facts,  the  mental  and  bodily,  into  connection 
with  each  other ; to  discover  the  laws  of  the  connection. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  problem  of  psychophysics  is  identical 
with  the  last  of  the  three  special  enquiries  which  make  up  the 
problem  of  psychology.  The  psychologist  can  borrow  facts  from 
the  psychophysicist,  therefore,  as  well  as  the  psychophysicist  from 
the  psychologist.  But  though  the  problem  may  be  identical  in  the 
two  cases,  the  standpoint  of  the  enquirers  is  different.  The  psy- 
chophysicist examines  the  relation  of  mind  to  body  for  its  own 
sake  : when  he  knows  the  relation,  his  work  is  over.  The  psy- 
chologist examines  the  relation  from  the  side  of  mind,  and  uses 
it  to  assist  him  in  his  explanation  of  mental  phenomena. 

In  just  the  same  way,  the  problem  of  psychophysics  is  part  of 
the  problem  of  physiology.  The  standpoint  differs  again,  how- 
ever : the  physiologist  looks  at  the  relation  between  body  and 
mind  from  the  side  of  body,  and  uses  it  to  assist  him  in  his  ex- 
planation of  the  phenomena  of  life.  To  the  psychophysicist, 


§ 6.  Ext er ncd  Aids  to  Psychology  21 

knowledge  of  the  relation  is  an  end ; to  the  physiologist,  as  to  the 
psychologist,  it  is  only  a means  to  an  end. 

§ 6.  External  Aids  to  Psychology.  — The  two  last  Sec- 
tions will  have  made  it  clear  that  psychology  in  the 
narrower  sense  is  closely  connected  with  certain  other 
sciences,  and  may  hope  to  derive  assistance  from  them 
in  its  attempt  to  describe  and  explain  the  facts  of  our 
mental  life.  The  sciences  to  which  we  shall  most  nat- 
urally appeal  for  help  are  those  of  psychogenesis,  mental 
pathology  and  physiology. 

(i)  Darwin’s  work  has  made  every  one  familiar  with  the 
idea  of  evolution  or  development,  and  has  taught  us  that 
we  do  not  thoroughly  understand  anything  until  we  have 
found  out  how  it  ‘ grew,’  i.e.,  how  it  came  to  be  what  it 
now  is.  The  composite  plant  and  the  highly  organised 
animal  have  developed  out  of  simpler  forms  of  life,  and 
biological  science  seeks  to  determine  the  conditions  under 
which  the  growth  or  development  took  place.  Man  is  no 
exception  to  the  rule : and  we  must  accordingly  suppose 
that  the  human  mind  has  developed  out  of  a simpler  form 
of  mind. 

There  are  two  forms  of  normal  mind  which  are  simpler 
than  our  own  : the  healthy  animal  mind  and  the  healthy 
child  mind.  Careful  study  of  psychogenesis  in  these  two 
cases  may  be  expected  some  day  to  clear  up  many  difficult 
points  in  adult  human  psychology,  by  showing  us  how 
processes,  now  highly  complex,  began  in  a simple  way, 
and  have  gradually  grown  to  be  what  they  are.  At 
present,  however,  for  reasons  which  cannot  be  stated  here, 
but  little  has  been  done  towards  the  investigation  of  the 
child  and  animal  consciousness,  and  the  results  obtained 
are  fragmentary  and  not  very  securely  established. 


22  The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

The  value  of  comparative  study  to  the  psychologist  may  be 
shown  by  an  instance  taken  from  the  psychology  of  action.  When 
we  are  angry,  grieved,  etc.,  — emotionally  ‘ moved,’  — we  express 
our  emotion  by  certain  bodily  movements,  known  technically  as 
‘ expressive  movements.’  Many  of  these  movements  are  unintel- 
ligible until  viewed  in  the  light  of  mental  history,  of  psychogenesis. 
Thus  the  face  of  proud  contempt,  “curving  a contumelious  lip,” 
is  only  the  human  copy  of  the  snarl  of  the  dog  or  wolf.  There 
seems  to  be  no  reason  why  we  should  curl  our  upper  lip  to  express 
scorn ; but  there  is  good  reason  why  the  animal  should  do  so,  — 
the  upward  curl  lays  bare  the  sharp  ‘ canine  ’ teeth,  and  is  there- 
fore a preparation  for  actual  attack  of  the  enemy.  In  this  case, 
then,  as  in  many  others,  the  human  expressive  movement  is  a sur- 
vival, in  weakened  form,  of  an  association  (§2)  which  originally 
served  a definite  and  important  purpose  in  mental  life. 

(2)  Mental  pathology  has  proved  more  useful  than 
psychogenesis  to  the  normal  psychologist.  Just  as  the 
study  of  bodily  disease  helps  us  to  understand  what 
health  is,  and  to  take  measures  for  the  preservation  of 
health,  so  the  study  of  mental  lack  or  mental  derange- 
ment brings  to  light  both  the  nature  and  the  importance 
of  certain  normal  processes. 

“ Prevention  is  better  than  cure.”  But  prevention  is 
only  possible  after  a long  series  of  particular  cures  has 
been  performed.  The  different  diseases  show  us  what 
conditions  are  favourable  to  health,  and  what  are  un- 
favourable ; and  we  learn  to  avoid  over-eating,  cold 
draughts,  etc.  In  other  words,  the  different  diseases 
help  us  to  analyse  health  into  a number  of  factors  : good 
digestion,  uniform  temperature,  moderate  exercise.  In 
just  the  same  way,  the  occurrence  of  various  forms  of 
mental  disease  helps  us  to  analyse  the  normal  conscious- 
ness ; we  see  what  kinds  of  processes  are  grouped  to- 


§ 6.  External  Aids  to  Psychology 


23 


gether,  and  what  processes  are  relatively  independent; 
and  we  may  have  factors  brought  under  our  notice 
which  would  have  escaped  us  altogether  in  the  normal 
mind,  because  masked  or  obscured  by  the  presence  of 
other  processes.  As  the  first  business  of  the  psycholo- 
gist is  analysis,  this  assistance  from  mental  pathology 
is  very  important. 

Again  : it  is  often  said  that  one  does  not  realise  the 
blessing  of  health  unless  one  has  recently  recovered  from 
an  illness.  Health  is  appreciated  by  contrast  with  ill- 
health.  So  in  psychology : when  we  contrast  the  normal 
consciousness  with  the  abnormal,  we  are  better  able  to  ap- 
preciate what  the  normal  consciousness  is,  and  to  under- 
stand its  mechanism  or  working. 

A case  of  blind-deaf-mutism,  like  that  of  Laura  Bridgman,1  is, 
so  to  speak,  a psychological  experiment  made  for  us  by  Nature 
herself.  When  we  observe  how  a mind  works,  which  lacks  the 
perceptions  of  sight  and  hearing,  and  the  sensations  accompanying 
the  movements  of  speech,  we  can  estimate  the  place  which  these 
sensations  and  perceptions  occupy  in  our  own  conscious  life ; and 
the  makeshifts  of  the  defective  mind,  the  various  ways  in  which 
the  processes  remaining  to  compose  it  are  made  to  do  double  or 
triple  duty,  give  us  welcome  hints  as  to  the  hidden  resources  and 
obscurer  functions  of  our  own  fuller  and  richer  consciousness.  Or 
again  : suppose  that  a man,  blind  from  his  birth,  is  rendered  able 

1 Laura  Dewey  Bridgman  was  born  in  1829  at  Hanover,  New  Hampshire, 
and  died  in  1889,  at  the  Perkins  Institution  for  the  Blind,  Boston,  Massachu- 
setts. An  attack  of  scarlet  fever  at  the  age  of  two  years  deprived  her  of  hear- 
ing and  of  the  sight  of  her  left  eye,  while  it  greatly  impaired  the  senses  of  smell 
and  taste.  Speech  was  lost  with  the  loss  of  hearing  ; and  the  sight  of  the  right 
eye  disappeared  entirely  six  years  after  the  illness. 

A special  system  of  education  was  devised  for  Laura  Bridgman,  and  ex- 
tended from  1837  to  1850.  From  the  reports  of  her  mental  development 
during  this  period,  and  from  examinations  of  her  capacities  made  at  a later 
date,  much  valuable  psychological  information  has  been  obtained. 


24  The  Meaning  and  Problem  of  Psychology 

to  see  by  a surgical  operation.  He  must  learn  to  use  his  eyes,  as 
a child  learns  to  walk.  And  the  gradual  perfecting  of  his  vision, 
the  mistakes  and  confusions  to  which  he  is  liable,  all  the  details  of 
his  visual  education,  form  a storehouse  of  facts  upon  which  the 
psychologist  can  draw,  when  he  seeks  to  illustrate  the  develop- 
ment of  the  perception  of  space  in  the  normal  mind,  — the  manner 
in  which  we  come  to  judge  of  the  distance  of  objects  from  one 
another,  of  their  direction,  and  of  their  size  and  shape.  Once 
more  : those  forms  of  mental  unsoundness  which  consist  in  the 
decay  or  derangement  of  a single  group  of  processes  are  oT  great  use 
to  the  psychologist.  They  show  him  how  the  mind  works  without 
that  particular  group,  or  how  it  works  when  the  group  occupies 
too  large  and  prominent  a place  in  the  field  of  consciousness  ; and 
thus  enable  him  to  trace  its  normal  function  in  the  healthy  mind. 
What  is  called  ‘ agoraphobia  ’ — a morbid  fear  of  being  alone  in 
open  spaces,  of  crossing  a street,  etc.  — is  only  an  exaggerated  form 
of  an  experience  which  most  of  us  have  had,  the  experience  of 
‘ losing  our  head,’  when  we  pass  suddenly  from  a quiet  country  life 
to  the  bustle  of  a large  town  ; and  the  study  of  this  experience 
‘ writ  large  ’ in  agoraphobia  will  help  us  to  understand  it  as  printed 
small  and  stamped  lightly  upon  our  own  consciousness.  So  the 
exaggerated  self-importance  of  paranoia  throws  light  upon  the 
state  of  mind  which  we  describe  by  saying  that  we  were  ‘ self- 
conscious  ’ upon  some  social  or  public  occasion. 

(3)  The  third  science  to  mention  is  physiology.  The 
reader  need  only  be  reminded  that  one  of  the  aims  of  the 
psychologist  is  to  bring  the  simplest  mental  processes  into 
connection  with  the  bodily  processes  which  they  accompany. 
It  is  clear  that  he  cannot  accomplish  this  task,  unless  he 
have  some  knowledge  of  the  different  bodily  organs,  of 
the  way  in  which  they  work  together  for  various  purposes, 
and  of  the  part  they  play  in  the  life  of  the  whole  organism. 

Illustrations  of  the  way  in  which  physiology  can  aid  psychology 
will  be  found  throughout  the  following  chapters  of  this  book.  One 
instance  may  suffice  here. 


§ 6.  External  Aids  to  Psychology 


25 


The  psychological  investigation  of  feeling  (pleasantness  and 
unpleasantness)  is  very  difficult,  fortunately,  every  feeling  has 
various  bodily  manifestations,  in  breathing,  play  of  feature,  etc.,  so 
that  we  can  follow  the  course  of  a pleasure  or  disagreeableness  by 
noting  its  physiological  symptoms.  Now  it  has  been  found  that 
the  bodily  manifestations  of  the  ‘ higher  ’ feelings  — joy,  the 
pleasure  of  success,  the  pleasure  of  the  performance  of  a duty ; 
or  shame,  scorn,  the  dissatisfaction  which  follows  failure  — are  the 
same  as  the  bodily  manifestations  of  the  ‘ lower  ’ feelings,  — the 
pleasure  of  a good  meal,  or  the  unpleasantness  of  bodily  pain. 
Here  is  welcome  confirmation  of  the  conclusion  reached,  but 
reached  with  great  difficulty,  by  introspection  : that  the  conscious 
processes  of  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  are  the  same,  in 
whatever  mental  setting  they  occur,  /.<?.,  with  whatever  other 
mental  processes  they  are  connected. 


PART  I 


CHAPTER  II 

Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element.  The  Method  of 

INVESTIGATING  SENSATION 

§ 7.  The  Definition  of  Sensation.  — We  have  seen  that 
‘thinking’  cannot  go  on  without  ideas.  When  I am 
thinking  about  anything,  my  consciousness  consists  of  a 
number  of  ideas,  some  running  their  course  side  by  side, 
and  others  following  these  in  obedience  to  the  laws  of 
association.  We  have  seen  also  that  we  cannot  have  cer- 
tain ideas  unless  the  body  possesses  certain  organs  ; ‘ mem- 
ory ’ and  ‘imagination,’  c.g.,  are  very  largely  made  up,  for 
most  of  us,  of  visual  ideas,  — and  these  imply  the  existence 
of  the  eye. 

Ideas  are  always  complex,  made  up  of  separate  parts. 
Our  way  of  using  a single  word  to  express  them  — though 
there  are  good  reasons  for  it- — is  likely  to  mislead  us  upon 
this  matter : it  tempts  us  to  think  that  they  are  simple  and 
uniform  in  their  nature.  Hence  it  requires  some  effort 
and  trouble  to  analyse  an  idea,  even  if  (as  is  often  the 
case)  it  owes  its  existence  to  the  combined  action  of  sev- 
eral sense-organs.  But  every  idea  can  be  resolved  into 
elements,  i.e.,  elemental  processes ; and  these  elements  are 
termed  sensations. 

My  idea  of  a particular  book  is  an  idea  derived  from  the  co- 
operation of  several  bodily  organs.  It  may  include  at  any  moment 
the  look  of  the  book  (eye),  the  sound  of  its  contents  when  read 

26 


§ 7-  The  Definition  of  Sensation 


2 7 


aloud  (ear),  its  weight  (skin,  etc.),  and  the  scent  of  its  cover 
(nose).  Now  let  us  leave  out  of  account  all  the  constituents  of 
the  idea  except  those  which  come  from  the  eye.  We  have  re- 
maining the  red  of  the  leather  and  gold  of  the  lettering  on  the 
cover,  and  the  black  and  white  of  the  printed  pages.  Each  of 
these  quite  simple  components  of  the  idea  is  a sensation  of  sight. 
Or  let  us  leave  out  of  account  all  the  constituents  except  those 
coming  through  the  ear.  We  then  have  the  sounds  of  a familiar 
voice,  which  we  imagine  to  be  speaking  certain  successions  of 
words.  Each  word  uttered  has  a particular  pitch,  is  a particular 
musical  tone ; while  at  the  same  time  its  consonants  are  heard  as 
noises  or  auditory  shocks.  These  quite  simple  processes  — the 
simple  tone  and  the  simple  noise  — are  sensations  of  hearing.  Or 
again  : let  us  leave  out  of  account  all  the  components  of  the  idea 
except  the  weight  which  we  remember  that  the  volume  has  when 
we  hold  it  up.  This  weight  includes  a pressure  on  the  skin  of  the 
hand,  a pull  or  strain  upon  the  tendons  which  hold  the  muscles  of 
the  arm  to  their  bones,  and  a jamming  together  of  the  bones  them- 
selves at  wrist  and  elbow-joint.  Each  constituent  — skin  pressure, 
tendinous  strain,  articular  (joint)  pressure  — is  a quite  simple 
process,  which  cannot  be  further  analysed.  We  speak,  therefore, 
of  sensations  of  pressure  and  of  strain. 

We  have  now  split  up  the  apparently  simple  ‘ book  ’ into  a large 
number  of  really  simple  sensations.  The  analysis  was  not  easy, 
even  though  different  bodily  organs  were  concerned  in  the  idea : 
it  would  be  difficult  to  say,  for  instance,  just  what  is  due,  in  the 
idea  of  ‘weight,’  to  joint,  what  to  sinew,  and  what  to  skin.  The 
analysis  becomes  very  much  more  difficult  when  all  the  compo- 
nents of  the  idea  come  from  the  same  sense-organ.  Long  prac- 
tice is  required  before  one  can  analyse  the  note  of  a musical 
instrument  into  the  separate  simple  tones  which  it  contains.  But 
the  analysis  is  always  possible. 

We  may  compare  the  sensation,  the  element  of  the  idea, 
to  the  elements  treated  of  in  chemical  science.  The  idea 
is  a compound ; it  consists  of  a number  of  elemental 


28 


Sensation  as  a Co?iscious  Element 


processes,  travelling  side  by  side  in  consciousness  : it 
therefore  resembles  the  compound  bodies  analysed  in  the 
chemical  laboratory.  But  the  sensation  resists  analysis, 
just  as  do  the  chemical  elements  oxygen  and  hydrogen. 
It  stands  to  the  idea  as  oxygen  and  hydrogen  stand  to 
water.  Whatever  test  we  put  it  to,  — however  persistent 
our  attempt  at  analysis  and  however  refined  our  method  of 
investigation,  — we  end  where  we  began : the  sensation 
remains  precisely  what  it  was  before  we  attacked  it. 

‘ Cold,’  ‘ blue,’  ‘ salt,’  cannot  be  divided  up  into  any 
simpler  modes  of  experience. 

All  sensations  come  to  us  from  definite  bodily  organs: 
cold  from  the  temperature  organs  in  the  skin,  blue  from 
the  sensitive  organs  in  the  retina  of  the  eye,  salt  from 
sensitive  cells  planted  in  the  mucous  membrane  of  the 
tongue.  These  ‘peripheral’  organs  — organs  at  the  pe- 
riphery or  on  the  surface  of  the  body  — are  united,  by 
nerve-fibres,  to  the  supreme  ‘ central  ’ organ,  the  brain. 
The  peripheral  organs  of  temperature  are  united  to  one 
group  of  cells  in  the  cortex  (the  grey  covering  matter)  of 
the  hemispheres  of  the  brain ; the  retina  of  the  eye  to 
another  ; the  peripheral  taste-cells  to  a third.  The  bodily 
process  with  which  sensation  is  connected  is,  therefore, 
twofold : it  consists  of  a stimulation  of  the  peripheral 
organ,  and  a consequent  excitation  (carried  inwards  by 
nerve-fibres)  of  the  central  organ. 

Our  definition  of  sensation  must  take  account  of  its  sim- 
plicity as  a conscious  process  (first  part  of  the  problem  of 
psychology  : § 4)  and  of  its  bodily  conditions  (third  part 
of  the  problem).  It  will  run  as  follows : Sensations  are 
those  elemental  conscious  processes  which  are  connected 
with  bodily  processes  in  definite  bodily  organs. 


§§  7,  8.  The  Definition  and  Attributes  of 'Sensation  29 


We  cannot  get  any  sensation  until  the  peripheral  organ  has 
been  stimulated.  Those  unfortunates  who  are  born  blind  or  deaf, 
who  have  no  peripheral  organs  which  can  be  stimulated,  possess 
no  sensations  of  sight  or  hearing  at  all.  It  is  a mistake  to  suppose 
that  they  live  in  darkness  and  silence.  To  appreciate  darkness 
and  silence  we  must  be  able  to  see  and  hear ; darkness  is  a sen- 
sation of  sight,  and  silence  is  in  reality  a very  faint  sensation  of 
sound,  — the  sensation  received  from  the  pumping  of  blood 
through  the  arteries  of  the  ear.  Those  born  deaf  or  blind  do  not 
hear  or  see  anything. 

But  when  the  peripheral  organ  has  been  stimulated  some  few 
times,  its  stimulation  ceases  to  be  necessary  to  the  production  of 
a sensation.  The  central  excitation  (set  up  somehow  within  the 
brain)  is  enough.  We  can  ‘ remember  ’ a yellow,  when  our  eyes 
are  shut ; we  can  ‘ imagine  ’ a cold  draught,  when  our  skin  is 
thoroughly  warm.  The  bodily  processes  connected  with  the 
remembered  yellow  and  the  imagined  cold  are  central  only,  not 
peripheral:  but  the  yellow  and  the  cold,  as  mental  processes, 
are  none  the  less  sensations. 

“ They  are  different  from  real  sensations,  however,  — different 
from  sensations  set  up  by  actual  stimulation  of  the  eye  and  skin,” 
it  may  be  said  : “ we  know  that  they  are  only  remembered  or 
imagined,  and  not  sensed.”  That  is  true  : but  the  difference  does 
not  lie  in  the  nature  of  the  processes  themselves.  A remembered 
‘ yellow  ’ and  a seen  ‘ yellow  ’ are  just  the  same  as  sensations,  as 
‘ yellows.’  If  the  remembered  yellow  seems  to  lack  something  of 
the  seen  yellow,  that  is  only  because  its  intensity  is  less,  its  out- 
line not  so  distinct,  its  conscious  course  more  rapid.  Really,  how- 
ever, the  ‘ remembered  yellow  ’ is  a more  complex  process  than 
the  seen  yellow  : it  is  a yellow  plus  what  we  may  call  the  memory- 
mark.  So  an  imagined  cold  is  a sensation  of  cold  plus  the  imagi- 
nation-mark. The  processes  which  make  up  these  marks  will  be 
analysed  later  on  (Ch.  XI). 

§ 8.  The  Attributes  of  Sensation.  — Although  the  sensa- 
tion is  an  element  of  mind,  that  is,  a process  which  can- 
not be  split  up  into  simpler  processes,  yet  it  has  various 


30 


Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element 


aspects  or  attributes  — presents  different  sides,  so  to  speak 
— each  of  which  may  be  separately  examined  by  the  psy- 
chologist. Some  sensations  have  four  such  aspects  ; every 
sensation  has  at  least  three.  The  four  are  quality,  inten- 
sity, extent  and  duration.  The  process  is  itself,  and  not 
some  other  process  (quality) ; it  is  stronger  or  weaker  than 
other  sensations  (intensity) ; it  spreads  over  a certain  por- 
tion of  space,  greater  or  less  (extent);  and  it  lasts  a cer- 
tain, longer  or  shorter  period  of  time  (duration). 

Suppose  that  I have  a tuning-fork,  which  gives  the  pitch  of  the 
concert  a.  I may  strike  it  gently  or  roughly.  In  each  case,  the 
‘tone’  remains  the  same,  the  quality  is  that  of  the  musical  a ; 
but  the  tone  produced  by  the  second  blow  is  louder,  more  inten- 
sive, than  that  produced  by  the  gentle  tap.  Again  : I may  let 
the  tone  ‘ run  down  ’ or  ‘ ring  off,’  or  I may  stop  or  ‘ damp  ’ it  by 
laying  my  finger  upon  the  vibrating  prongs  a second  or  two  after 
I have  struck  the  fork.  The  tone  is  still  the  same  ; its  duration 
differs.  This  tone  sensation,  then,  possesses  quality  (the  pitch  of  a 
musical  a in  a certain  octave  of  the  scale),  intensity  (loudness  or 
softness)  and  duration  (more  or  less  time  for  the  running  its 
course  in  consciousness).  It  has  no  extent,  since  sounds,  though 
they  come  to  us  through  space,  do  not  fill  space,  and  therefore 
cannot  be  compared  as  regards  size.  A bass  note,  though  it  may 
have  more  ‘volume’  (as  we  say)  than  a treble  note,  is  not  larger 
than  the  treble  note,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  red  quality  of  a. 
peony  is  larger,  more  extended  than  the  same  quality  in  a rose. 

Had  we  taken  as  our  illustration  this  sensation  of  colour  from 
the  eye,  or  a sensation  of  pressure  upon  the  skin,  we  should  have 
found  the  attribute  of  extent  present  in  it.  No  point  of  coloured 
light  is  so  small  that  it  has  no  length  or  breadth  : and  no  needle- 
prick  is  so  fine  that  it  does  not  represent  in  consciousness  some 
extent  of  skin.  Extent  is  an  invariable  property  of  visual  and  cuta- 
neous (skin)  pressure  sensations. 

We  may  represent  a four-attribute  sensation  in  the  form 
indicated  by  Fig.  2.  It  must  be  noted  that  all  the  aspects 


§ 8.  The  Attributes  of  Sensation 


31 


(three  or  four)  which  a particular  sensation  can  present  are, 
as  a matter  of  fact,  always  presented  together  in  conscious- 
ness. If  any  one  of  them  disappears,  the 
whole  sensation  disappears  with  it.  A 
tone  which  is  of  no  duration,  which  does 
not  last  for  any  time  at  all,  is  not  a tone ; 
and  a point  of  light  which  has  no  extent 
cannot  give  rise  to  a sensation  of  sight,  — it  is  just  nothing. 

The  quality  of  a sensation  is  the  attribute  which  distin- 
guishes it  from  every  other  sensation.  And  it  is  quality 
which  makes  sensation  an  elemental  conscious  process. 
The  fact  that  one  process  is  stronger  or  weaker  than  an- 
other, lasts  a longer  or  shorter  time,  is  more  or  less 
extended,  could  never  tell  us  whether  it  was  itself  sim- 
ple or  complex.  But  every  quality  is  radically  different 
from  every  other  quality : it  always  remains  itself,  through 
all  changes  of  intensity  and  of  time  or  space.  An  a in 
music  may  vary  in  loudness  and  in  duration ; but  it  is  still 
a,  and  therefore  different  from  all  the  other  tones,  b , c, 
etc.  A blue  may  show  itself  as  a flash  or  as  a permanent 
illumination ; it  may  be  a point  or  a broad  colour  surface : 
but  its  blueness  differentiates  it  from  all  other  visual  sen- 
sations. Quality,  that  is,  is  the  most  important  and  funda- 
mental of  the  sensation  attributes : it  constitutes  what  we 
might  call  the  core  or  kernel  of  the  sensation,  — though 
we  must  not  allow  the  phrase  to  mislead  us,  by  suggesting 
that  the  sensation  is  a compound  process.  We  might  ex- 
press the  fact  equally  well,  perhaps,  by  saying  that  sensation 
intensity  is  always  the  intensity  of  a certain  quality ; sen- 
sation duration  always  the  duration  of  a certain  quality,  etc. 

Quite  complex  processes  may  possess  their  own  intensity,  dura- 
tion and  extent.  Thus  a note  struck  upon  the  piano,  which  com- 


32 


Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element 


prises  several  sensations  of  simple  tone,  may  be  spoken  of  as 
‘ loud  ’ or  ‘ soft  ’ ; the  taste  of  a refreshing  draught  of  lemonade  may 
linger  in  the  mouth  for  a longer  or  shorter  time ; and  the  Sistine 
Madonna  may  be  imagined  as  of  any  size,  from  that  of  the  origi- 
nal painting  to  that  of  a small  cabinet  photograph.  But  no  com- 
plex idea  has  a single  quality.  Even  if  it  seems  single  to  the 
untrained  observer,  — as  the  piano  note  may  do,  — it  can  be 
resolved  by  practice  into  its  really  simple  elements  (sensation 
qualities). 

How  it  comes  about  that  a complex  process  may  have  a ‘ total  ’ 
intensity,  duration,  etc.,  distinct  from  the  intensities  and  durations 
of  the  sensations  composing  it,  will  be  explained  later  on  (§§  39, 
43  ff-)- 

§ 9.  The  Method  of  investigating  Sensation.  — Every 
science  has  its  own  special  material  to  deal  with,  and 
consequently  its  own  special  methods  of  working  upon 
that  material  for  the  discovery  of  facts  and  laws.  Physics 
and  chemistry  follow  ‘ physical  ’ and  ‘ chemical  ’ methods  : 
and  no  progress  can  be  made  by  the  student  in  either  sci- 
ence until  he  has  learned  the  right  way  to  work,  i.e.,  has 
grasped  the  significance  of  method.  The  special  method 
employed  by  psychology  is  that  of  introspection  or  self- 
observation. We  ‘ look  into  ’ the  mind,  each  for  himself  ; 
or  we  observe  ourselves,  — in  order  to  find  out  what  pro- 
cesses are  going  on  at  the  time,  and  how  they  are  influ- 
encing one  another. 

This  ‘looking  into’  one’s  mind  or  observation  of  one’s 
own  mental  processes  must  not  be  understood  literally, 
however,  as  if  consciousness  were  one  thing,  existing  of 
itself,  and  the  ‘ I,’  the  observer,  could  stand  apart  and 
watch  it  from  the  outside.  The  ‘ I,’  the  watching,  and 
the  conscious  phenomenon  observed,  are  all  alike  con- 
scious processes;  so  that  when  ‘I  observe  myself,’  all  that 


§ g.  The  Method  of  Investigating  Sensation  33 

happens  is  that  a new  set  of  processes  is  introduced  into 
the  consciousness  of  the  moment. 

But  this  introduction  of  new  processes  must,  it  would 
seem,  bring  about  a change  in  the  particular  experience 
which  one  sets  out  to  observe.  And  it  is  imperative  to 
keep  that  experience  unchanged  : a method  of  observa- 
tion which  involved  an  alteration  of  the  facts  to  be  ob- 
served would  not  be  worth  much.  Direct  introspection  — 
observation  of  a process  which  is  still  running  its  course 
— is,  as  a matter  of  fact,  entirely  worthless;  it  defeats 
its  own  object. 

Suppose,  e.g.,  that  I am  absorbed  in  the  enjoyment  of  a humor- 
ous story  or  a musical  composition,  and  suddenly  (remembering 
that  I am  interested  in  psychology)  ask  myself  what  my  enjoy- 
ment is,  and  what  mental  processes  go  to  make  it  up.  I find 
myself  baffled  : the  putting  of  the  question  has  seriously  altered 
my  consciousness.  I cannot  enjoy  and  examine  my  enjoyment  at 
one  and  the  same  time. 

Psychological  introspection,  however,  does  not  consist 
in  the  effort  to  follow  up  a process  during  its  course. 
The  rule  for  introspection,  in  the  sphere  of  sensation, 
is  as  follows  : Be  as  attentive  as  possible  to  the  object  or 
process  which  gives  rise  to  the  sensation , and , when  the 
object  is  removed  or  the  process  completed,  recall  the  sen- 
sation by  an  act  of  memory  as  vividly  and  completely  as 
you  can. 

The  object  or  process  which  gives  rise  to  a sensation  is 
termed  the  stimulus  to  that  sensation.  If  we  attend  to 
the  stimulus,  the  sensation  becomes  clearer,  and  has  a 
more  enduring  place  in  consciousness  than  it  would  have 
gained  in  its  own  right.  Hence  we  can  best  observe  those 
sensations  to  whose  stimuli  we  have  been  especially  at- 


34  Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element 

tentive.  We  avoid  any  interference  with  the  workings 
of  consciousness  by  postponing  our  observation  of  the 
process  which  we  wish  to  examine  until  after  it  has  run 
its  full  course,  and  the  stimulus  which  occasioned  it  has 
ceased  to  affect  us.  We  then  call  it  back,  look  at  it  from 
all  points  of  view,  and  dissect  it.  Introspective  examina- 
tion must  be  a post  mortem  examination. 

A comparison  may  help  to  make  the  meaning  of  the  rule  clear. 
We  may  liken  the  consciousness  upon  which  the  stimulus  works 
to  sealing-wax,  and  the  stimulus  itself  to  the  signet  stone  impressed 
upon  it.  Attention  prepares  the  mind  for  the  reception  of  an 
impression,  as  the  heating  of  the  wax  prepares  it  for  the  signet ; 
and  the  more  attentive  we  are  to  the  stimulus,  the  deeper  is  the 
impression  which  it  makes  upon  us.  The  impression  once  made, 
the  wax  hardens  : we  can  recall  the  sensation,  scrutinise  it,  trace 
the  course  which  it  followed,  etc., — just  as  we  can  hold  up  the 
hardened  seal  to  the  light,  note  the  pattern,  the  flaws  in  the  wax, 
etc.,  in  a way  which  is  impossible  during  the  stage  of  softness, 
when  the  stone  produces  its  greatest  effect. 

But  this  introspection,  it  may  well  be  said,  cannot  fur- 
nish very  reliable  results.  The  individual  can  apply  the 
method  to  one  consciousness  only  — his  own ; and  we  all 
know  how  easy  it  is  for  a single  observer  to  make  mis- 
takes, and  how  necessary  to  have  more  witnesses  than 
one,  if  a fact  is  to  be  securely  established.  There  is  no 
guarantee  that  other  individuals  would  come  to  the  same 
conclusion,  from  an  examination  of  their  consciousnesses ; 
and  no  means  of  comparing  the  conclusions  reached  by 
different  individuals  under  similar  circumstances. 

The  first  objection  is  unanswerable.  But  although  we 
can  never  apply  the  introspective  method  to  any  conscious- 
ness except  our  own,  we  can  arrange  matters  so  that  other 


§ 9-  The  Method  of  Investigating  Sensation  35 

individuals  may  be  brought  forward  as  witnesses  to  the 
facts  which  we  ourselves  have  observed.  This  end  is 
attained  by  the  employment  of  the  method  under  experi- 
mental conditions. 

An  experiment  is  a trial,  test,  or  observation,  carefully 
made  under  certain  special  conditions:  the  object  of  the 
conditions  being  (1)  to  render  it  possible  for  any  one  who 
will  to  repeat  the  test,  in  the  exact  manner  in  which  it  was 
first  performed,  and  (2)  to  help  the  observer  to  rule  out 
disturbing  influences  during  his  observation,  and  so  to  get 
at  the  desired  result  in  a pure  form.  If  we  say  precisely 
how  we  have  worked,  other  investigators  can  go  through 
the  same  processes,  and  judge  whether  our  conclusion  is 
right  or  wrong ; and  if  we  do  the  work  in  a fitting  place, 
with  fitting  instruments,  without  hurry  or  interruption, 
guarding  against  any  influence  which  is  foreign  to  the 
matter  in  hand,  and  which  might  conceivably  alter  our 
observation,  we  may  be  sure  of  obtaining  ‘pure’  results, 
results  which  follow  directly  from  the  conditions  laid  down 
by  us,  and  are  not  due  to  the  operation  of  any  unforeseen 
or  unregulated  causes.  Experiment  thus  secures  accuracy 
of  observation,  and  the  connection  of  every  result  with  its 
own  conditions ; while  it  enables  observers  in  all  parts  of 
the  world  to  work  together  upon  one  and  the  same  psycho- 
logical problem. 

The  psychological  experiment  does  not  differ  in  any 
essential  respect  from  the  experiments  of  the  other 
sciences,  — physics,  physiology,  etc.  There  is  always  the 
one  difference  already  mentioned : while  a newly  discov- 
ered insect  or  a rare  mineral  can  be  packed  in  a box,  and 
sent  by  one  investigator  to  another  in  a distant  country, 
the  psychologist  can  never  put  his  consciousness  in  any 


3 6 Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element 

similar  way  at  the  disposal  of  his  fellow-psychologist. 
But  the  difference  is  a minor  difference : it  does  not  ex- 
tend to  the  nature  and  function  of  the  experiment  itself, 
— it  does  not  impair  the  accuracy  of  psychological  results 
or  prevent  community  of  psychological  investigation. 

The  rule  of  experimental  introspection,  in  the  sphere  of 
sensation,  runs  as  follows  : Have  yoiirsclf  placed  under  such 
conditions  that  there  is  as  little  likelihood  as  possible  of  ex- 
ternal interference  with  the  test  to  be  made.  Attend  to  the 
stimulus,  and,  when  it  is  removed,  recall  the  sensatio7i  by 
an  act  of  memory.  Give  a verbal  account  of  the  processes 
constituting  your  consciousness  of  the  stimulus.  The  ac- 
count must  be  written  down  by  the  assistant,  who  has 
arranged  for  you  the  conditions  under  which  the  test  is  to 
be  made.  His  description  of  the  conditions,  and  your 
description  of  the  experience,  furnish  data  from  which 
other  psychologists  can  work. 

In  whichever  form  it  is  employed,  the  introspective  method 
demands  the  exercise  of  memory.  Care  must  therefore  be  taken 
to  work  with  memory  at  its  best : the  interval  of  time  which 
elapses  between  experience  and  the  account  of  experience  must 
not  be  so  short  that  memory  has  not  time  to  recover  the  experi- 
ence, or  so  long  that  the  experience  has  become  faded  and  blurred. 
In  its  experimental  form,  introspection  demands  further  an  exact 
use  of  language.  The  terms  chosen  to  describe  the  experience 
must  be  definite,  sharp  and  concrete.  The  conscious  process  is 
like  a fresco,  painted  in  great  sweeps  of  colour  and  with  all  sorts 
of  intermediary  and  mediating  lights  and  shades  : words  are  little 
blocks  of  stone,  to  be  used  in  the  composition  of  a mosaic.  If  we 
are  required  to  represent  the  fresco  by  a mosaic,  we  must  see  to 
it  that  our  blocks  be  of  small  size  and  of  every  obtainable  tint  and 
hue.  Otherwise,  our  representation  will  not  come  very  near  to 
the  original. 


§ io.  Rules  for  Introspection  of  Sensation  37 

Introspection  is  the  sole  method  by  which  we  can  in- 
vestigate the  facts  and  laws  of  sensation.  It  may  be  used 
wrongly,  as  when  we  try  to  observe  a sensation  during  its 
progress ; it  may  be  used  imperfectly,  as  when  we  employ 
it  under  varying  conditions,  or  give  an  incomplete  account 
of  our  experience,  or  work  at  a time  when  the  memory  is 
fatigued ; and  it  may  be  used  rightly,  under  experimental 
conditions  and  safeguards.  But,  however  we  use  it,  it  is 
the  sole  method  which  we  can  follow. 

When  we  pass  from  the  first  and  second  parts  to  the  third  part 
of  the  problem  of  psychology  (§  4),  — when  we  ask,  not  what  are 
the  facts  and  laws  of  sensation  as  revealed  by  introspection,  but 
what  are  the  bodily  processes  which  accompany  sensation  pro- 
cesses, — we  must,  of  course,  accept  the  account  of  the  body  and 
its  workings  which  is  offered  by  physiologists  and  biologists,  and 
which  has  been  obtained  by  the  use  of  the  methods  peculiar  to 
physiology  and  biology.  The  union  of  physiological  and  psycho- 
logical methods  for  psychophysical  purposes  has  led  to  the  formu- 
lation of  a number  of  ‘ psychophysical  methods.’  Since  we,  as 
psychologists,  are  using  psychophysics  only  as  means  to  an  end, 
as  an  aid  to  our  understanding  of  mind,  it  is  unnecessary  for  us  to 
give  a full  and  detailed  statement  of  psychophysical  methods  in 
this  book.  Many  of  them  will  be  briefly  indicated  in  the  Sections 
in  which  we  enquire  into  the  bodily  concomitants  of  the  elemental 
conscious  processes. 

§ 10.  General  Rules  for  the  Introspection  of  Sensation.  — - 

The  ‘experimental  conditions’  which  are  necessary  to 
render  the  results  of  introspection  scientifically  valuable 
will,  of  course,  differ  in  the  case  of  different  sensations. 
The  rules  which  apply  in  the  sense  of  sight  do  not  hold, 
without  modification,  in  that  of  hearing.  But  there  are 
certain  conditions  which  must  always  be  regarded,  in 
whatever  department  of  sensation  we  are  working : or,  to 


38  Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element 

put  the  matter  from  the  other  side,  there  are  certain  errors 
to  which  we  are  always  liable,  and  which  we  must  con- 
stantly guard  against. 

(i)  When  we  introspect,  we  must  be  absolutely  im- 
partial and  unprejudiced.  We  must  not  let  ourselves  be 
biassed  by  any  preconceived  idea.  We  are  likely  to  think 
that,  in  all  probability,  a certain  thing  will  happen,  or  we 
may  actually  want  to  obtain  a given  result,  to  confirm 
some  view  which  we  have  already  formed.  In  either  case, 
we  are  in  danger  of  mistaken  observation.  We  ought  to 
be  ready  to  take  the  facts  precisely  as  they  are. 

Impartiality  is  a necessary  condition  of  all  scientific  observation. 
We  observe  because  we  are  interested  in  the  result  of  our  observa- 
tion : some  chance  occurrence  has  suggested  to  us  an  explanation 
of  particular  events,  and  we  are  interested  to  discover,  by  system- 
atic enquiry,  whether  the  explanation  is  correct.  The  trained 
observer,  psychologist  or  physicist  or  what  not,  can  take  the  sug- 
gestion for  what  it  is  worth ; he  does  not  allow  it  to  affect  his 
observation.  But  the  beginner  is  exceedingly  liable  to  be  led  by 
interest  into  partiality ; and  so  to  see,  not  what  really  happens, 
but  what  he  desires  or  expects  to  see  happen. 

Impartiality  in  psychological  investigations,  however,  is  pecul- 
iarly difficult.  In  most  sciences,  the  danger  of  partiality  begins 
after  a few  accidental  observations  have  suggested  a certain  view. 
In  the  case  of  (x)  animal  and  child  psychology,  the  bias  may 
exist  before  any  observation  has  been  made  at  all,  and  all  obser- 
vations, from  the  very  first,  be  vitiated  by  it.  Mother  and  nurse 
find  intelligence  in  the  baby  when  the  disinterested  observer  can 
see  nothing  out  of  the  common  ; and  lovers  of  animals  tell  wonder- 
ful tales  of  the  intelligence  of  their  special  pets.  In  the  case  of 
(2)  adult  human  psychology,  bias  may  also  be  prior  to  any  obser- 
vation. A certain  resoluteness  and  evenness  of  disposition,  a moral 
steadiness  and  balance,  are  required  of  the  introspective  psychol- 
ogist. It  is  not  only  that  “ what  ardently  we  wish  we  soon  be- 


§ io.  Rules  for  Introspection  of  Sensation  39 

lieve  ” : the  chemist  runs  that  danger  equally  with  the  psychologist. 
It  is  rather  that  the  objects  of  investigation  are  intrinsically  elusive, 
that  their  investigation  demands  both  quickness  and  accuracy,  and 
that  the  observer  has  to  forget  all  social  relations  and  take  up  a 
sturdily  independent  attitude  to  facts  which  are,  in  part  at  least 
(§2),  of  his  own  making.  Many  people  are  too  complaisant,  too 
reflective  (letting  reflection  about  experience  take  the  place  of 
experience  itself),  too  impressionable,  etc.,  to  be  impartial. 

To  get  at  facts,  we  must  be  wholly  unprejudiced  : interested  in 
the  general  subject,  but  not  concerned  to  establish  a particular 
result. 

(2)  When  we  introspect,  we  must  have  our  attention 
under  control.  The  attention  must  not  be  permitted 
either  to  flag  or  to  wander. 

The  reasons  for  this  rule  have  been  given  above.  The  better 
we  attend  to  an  occurrence,  the  more  accurate  and  lasting  is  our 
memory  of  it. 

It  is  difficult  for  the  beginner  to  control  his  attention.  In  the 
first  place,  he  has  not  learned  by  experience  what  exactly  it  is  that 
he  is  required  to  attend  to,  and  so  is  liable  to  be  distracted  by 
what  are  really  accidental  and  irrelevant  stimuli.  And  when  this 
difficulty  is  overcome,  there  is  still  the  danger  that  the  attention 
may  wander  or  flag.  The  observer  will  be  apt  to  interrupt  his 
introspection,  asking  himself  whether  he  is  carrying  out  instruc- 
tions, whether  his  attention  is  at  full  strain,  what  is  the  meaning 
of  this  or  that  condition  of  the  experiment,  etc.  Practice  is  the 
only  remedy  for  these  faults  ; and  even  practice  cannot  secure  an 
unflagging  attention,  if  the  observation  be  too  long  continued. 

(3)  When  we  introspect,  body  and  mind  must  be  fresh. 

Fatigue  and  exhaustion  prevent  any  sustained  concentration  of 
the  attention.  We  cannot  attend  if  we  are  sleepy,  or  if  we  have 
worked  our  muscles  to  the  state  of  pain  and  stiffness.  And  if  we 
cannot  attend,  we  cannot  introspect. 

It  follows  that  we  can  introspect  best  in  the  morning ; or,  if 


40 


Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element 


morning  hours  are  not  available,  in  the  late  afternoon,  after  re- 
freshment by  moderate  exercise.  Introspection  should  not  be 
attempted  immediately  after  eating,  i.e.,  at  a time  when  we  are 
normally  sleepy.  It  follows  also  (i)  that  if  a psychological  investi- 
gation promises  to  be  at  all  long,  we  should  work  upon  it  rather 
for  a short  time  daily  during  a number  of  days  than  for  any  length 
of  time  together  during,  a few  days,  and  (2)  that  we  should  work 
at  the  same  hour  of  each  day.  The  first  rule  provides  against 
fatigue  during  a single  sitting,  the  second  keeps  the  conditions  of 
freshness  and  tiredness  constant  from  day  to  day. 

(4)  When  we  introspect,  our  general  dispositiofi,  physi- 
cal and  mental,  should  be  favourable.  We  must  feel  well, 
feel  comfortable,  feel  good-tempered,  and  feel  interested 
in  the  subject. 

Any  physical  or  mental  discomfort  hinders  introspection  : breath- 
lessness, a cold  in  the  head,  a too  hot  room,  a strained  attitude 
of  the  body  (as  when  one  sits  in  a low  chair  at  a high  table)  ; or 
irritation  at  having  to  work  at  this  particular  time,  self-conscious- 
ness, nervousness  (anxiety  as  to  whether  one  is  working  correctly, 
as  well  as  one’s  neighbour,  etc.),  impatience,  disbelief  in  the  value 
of  the  special  experiment,  dislike  of  those  with  whom  one  is  asso- 
ciated to  perform  it,  the  disregard  which  comes  from  frequent 
repetition  of  a certain  act  of  introspection  and  the  contempt  which 
is  bred  by  familiarity  with  its  conditions,  etc.  It  is  difficult  to 
be  sure  that  our  results  are  obtained  under  the  most  favourable 
conditions  of  physical  and  mental  disposition ; but  no  others  are 
really  trustworthy. 

These  are  the  most  important  of  the  general  rules  to  be 
followed  in  introspection.  Can  we  ever  be  quite  sure 
that  we  have  followed  them  ? 

Even  when  we  think  that  all  possible  precautions  have 
been  taken,  it  must  often  be  the  case  that  certain  of  the 
required  conditions  are  left  unfulfilled.  However  favour- 
able the  general  disposition,  eg.,  and  however  trained  the 


§ io.  Rules  for  Introspection  of  Sensation  41 

power  of  observation,  there  may  still  be  some  unnoticed 
wavering  of  the  attention,  some  unsuspected  tinge  of  pre- 
conceived opinion.  While,  therefore,  we  may  reasonably 
hope  to  get  perfectly  correct  results  in  many  instances,  we 
cannot  be  sure  that  the  single  result  of  any  particular 
experiment  is  entirely  free  from  error.  Now  there  is  a 
method,  employed  both  in  science  and  in  practical  life, 
which  helps  us  to  set  up  a working  standard,  a norm  with 
which  all  individual  results  may  be  compared,  under  the 
most  various  and  fluctuating  circumstances : the  method 
of  averages.  We  make  a large  number  of  observations, 
and  take  their  average.  This  mean  result  will  not  repre- 
sent the  observer  at  his  very  best,  but  will  indicate  the 
normal  or  average  performance  which  may  be  expected  of 
him  when  the  conditions  under  which  he  observes  are  as 
favourable  as  human  nature  can  make  and  keep  them. 
The  average  lies,  i.e.,  somewhere  between  the  result 
obtained  under  absolutely  favourable  conditions  and  that 
gained  under  conditions  which  just  fall  short  of  being  en- 
tirely favourable.  The  more  highly  trained  the  observer, 
the  greater  his  impartiality,  and  the  better  his  general  dis- 
position, the  more  nearly  will  the  average  approach  to 
the  ideal  standard. 

The  method  of  averages  is  always  employed  in  psycho- 
logical experimentation.  Oftentimes  the  average  is  brought 
exceedingly  near  the  ideal  result  by  the  fact  that  the  errors 
of  the  separate  experiments  cancel  one  another  when  the 
average  is  struck,  — as  many  falling  on  the  plus  side  as 
fall  upon  the  minus  side. 

The  ‘ facts  ’ of  the  psychology  of  sensation  are,  then, 
average  results  obtained  from  observers  trained  in  intro- 
spection under  experimental  conditions  of  both  a general 


42  Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element 

and  a special  character.  The  former  we  have  learned  to 
know  as  impartiality,  attention,  freshness,  and  favourable 
disposition.  The  latter  we  shall  discuss  (under  the  head- 
ing of  Method)  in  following  chapters. 

§ n.  The  Classification  of  Sensations.  — Every  sensation 
comes  to  us  from  a definite  bodily  organ.  We  may  there- 
fore divide  sensations  into  groups  or  classes,  according  to 
the  various  sense-organs  which  the  body  possesses,  and 
speak  of  eye  sensations,  ear  sensations,  nose  sensations, 
skin  sensations,  muscle  sensations,  joint  sensations,  etc. 

This  list,  if  completed,  would  be  perfectly  accurate. 
But  it  is  convenient  to  make  some  further  divisions  and 
subdivisions,  which  are  justified  by  differences  in  the  nat- 
ure of  the  stimuli  necessary  to  arouse  sensations  of  certain 
kinds.  Classification  by  stimulus,  in  addition  to  the  classi- 
fication by  sense-organs,  is  useful  in  two  ways. 

(1)  Sensations  in  general  fall  into  two  principal  groups, 
according  as  their  stimulus  is  external  (originating  outside 
the  body)  or  internal  (originating  within  the  body).  Light, 
the  stimulus  to  vision,  is  an  external  stimulus ; muscular 
contraction,  the  stimulus  to  muscular  sensation,  is  an  in- 
ternal stimulus.  We  therefore  distinguish  between  sen- 
sations of  the  special  sejises,  which  are  stimulated  from 
without,  and  organic  sensatioiis,  the  stimulus  to  which 
consists  in  a certain  state,  or  change  of  state,  of  the 
internal  bodily  organ  from  which  they  come.  There 
is,  probably,  no  sensation  quality  which  is  common  to 
every  department  of  sense,  internal  and  external  alike ; 
though  pain  has,  until  quite  recently,  been  generally  re- 
garded as  a common  sensation  of  this  kind. 

(2)  The  nature  of  the  stimulus  may  differ  within  the 
same  sense.  Light  is  the  stimulus  to  sensations  from  the 


§ ii.  Classification  of  Sensations  43 

eye.  But  the  physicist  recognises  two  kinds  of  light,  — 
white  or  mixed  light,  and  pure  or  coloured  light  (light  of 
one  wave-length  or  of  one  vibration-rate) ; and  we  have 
two  corresponding  groups  of  sensations,  — sensations  of 
brightness  (black,  grey,  white),  and  sensations  of  colour. 
Sound  is  the  stimulus  of  hearing : but  sound  may  be  pro- 
duced both  by  a single  shock  or  concussion  of  the  air  and 
by  an  air-wave ; and  we  have  two  corresponding  types  of 
auditory  sensation,  — the  simple  noise  (shock),  and  the 
simple  tone  (wave). 

Our  list  will,  then,  take  final  shape  as  follows.  To 
realise  the  part  played  in  mind  by  the  different  groups 
of  sensations,  the  reader  must  compare  it  with  the  corre- 
sponding list  of  § 22. 

I.  Sensations  of  the  Special  Senses  (external  stimulus) . 

1.  Visual  sensations. 

a.  Sensations  of  brightness  (stimulus  : mixed  light) . 

b.  Sensations  of  colour  (stimulus  : homogeneous  or  pure 

light). 

2.  Auditory  sensations. 

a.  Sensations  of  noise  (stimulus : sound  concussion  or  shock). 

b.  Sensations  of  tone  (stimulus  : sound-wave). 

3.  Olfactory  sensations  (stimulus : odorous  particles  carried 

by  a draught  of  air) . 

4.  Gustatory  sensations  (stimulus : the  chemical  constitution 

of  certain  substances,  which  enables  them  to  excite  the 
organs  of  taste). 

5.  Cutaneous  sensations. 

a.  Sensations  of  pressure  and  pain  (stimulus  : mechanical 

affection  of  cutis  and  epidermis). 

b.  Sensations  of  temperature  (stimulus  : thermal  affection 

of  the  skin) . 

II.  Organic  Sensations  (internal  stimulus). 

6.  Muscular  sensations  (stimulus  : contraction  of  muscle). 


44 


Sensation  as  a Conscious  Element 


7.  Tendinous  sensations  (stimulus : pull  or  strain  upon 

tendon). 

8.  Articular  sensations  (stimulus:  rubbing  or  jamming  to- 

gether of  surfaces  of  joint). 

9.  Sensations  from  the  alimentary  canal. 

a.  From  the  pharynx  (stimulus : dryness  of  mucous 

membrane). 

b.  From  the  oesophagus  (stimulus:  antiperistaltic  reflex). 

c.  From  the  stomach  (stimulus  : dryness  of  gastric  mucous 

membrane). 

10.  Circulatory  sensations  (stimulus:  change  in  circulation). 

11.  Respiratory  sensations  (stimulus  : change  in  breathing). 

12.  Sexual  sensations  (stimulus:  change  in  blood-supply,  or 

in  secretory  activity,  of  the  sex  organs) . 

13.  Sensation  of  the  ‘static  sense  ’ (stimulus:  change  in  the 

distribution  of  pressure  from  the  water  of  the  semicir- 
cular canals  of  the  internal  ear) . 


CHAPTER  III 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 
I.  Sensations  of  Special  Sense 

§ 12.  The  Quality  of  Visual  Sensations.  — The  stimulus 
to  vision  is  light.  Physical  theory  regards  light  as  a 
wave  movement  in  the  ether  with  which  space  is  filled. 
Light  is  either  mixed  or  pure  (homogeneous) : mixed,  if 
it  consists  of  waves  of  every  possible  length,  travelling 
together ; and  pure  (homogeneous),  if  its  waves  are  all 
of  the  same  length.  Mixed  light  always  excites  the  sen- 
sation of  brightness ; a single  pure  light,  the  sensation  of 
some  colour. 

(i)  Sensations  of  Brightness. — We  have  only  five 
names,  in  ordinary  conversation,  to  indicate  different 
kinds  or  qualities  of  brightness  : black,  white,  grey,  dark 
grey  and  light  grey.  When  put  to  a rigid  test,  however, 
the  eye  is  found  to  be  capable  of  distinguishing  700  bright- 
ness qualities,  varying  from  the  deepest  black  to  the  most 
brilliant  white. 

The  method  by  which  we  determine  the  number  of  brightness 
qualities  is  as  follows.  Four  circular  pieces  (discs)  of  cardboard 
are  prepared,  two  of  dead  black  and  two  of  white.  A cut  is 
made  in  each,  from  outer  edge  to  centre,  so  that  a black  and  a 
white  can  be  fitted  together,  and  a white  sector,  of  any  desired 
width,  laid  over  the  black  surface.  The  backs  of  the  discs  are 
divided  up  into  degrees  and  fractions  of  degrees,  in  order  that  the 


45 


46 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


amount  of  white  which  replaces  the  original  black  in  a particular 
experiment  may  be  accurately  measured. 

For  purposes  of  experiment,  the  discs  are  mounted  in  pairs  — a 
white  behind  a black  — upon  ‘colour  wheels,’  which  allow  of  their 

rapid  rotation.  When 
the  discs  are  combined 
in  this  way,  presenting 
a black  and  white  sur- 
face, and  are  rapidly 
rotated,  they  give  rise 
to  a sensation  of  grey 
(§  24).  The  object  of 
the  first  experiment  is 
to  discover,  by  the  com- 
parison of  an  all-black 
disc  with  a surface  in 
which  there  is  a slight 
trace  of  white,  what  mixture  of  black  and  white  is  just  different  in 
sensation  from  dead  black;  the  object  of  the  second,  to  discover 
what  amount  of  white  must  be  added  to  black  to  make  a grey  just 
different  in  sensation  from  the  grey  of  the  first  mixture  ; and  so 
on.  Each  of  these  ‘just  different’  brightness  sensations  is  a 
conscious  element. 

The  sensation  of  brightness  (black,  grey,  white)  is  pro- 
duced (a)  by  the  action  of  mixed  light  upon  the  retina  or 
nervous  network  (Latin  rete,  net)  of  the  eye.  It  can  also 
be  produced  (b)  by  the  mixture  of  certain  pairs  of  pure 
lights,  — red  and  bluish  green,  orange  and  blue,  yellow 
and  indigo-blue,  greenish  yellow  and  violet  (the  ‘ comple- 
mentary ’ colours) ; and  ( c ) by  the  mixture,  in  proper  pro- 
portions, of  three  pure  lights,  properly  selected  (red,  green 
and  violet,  or  red,  yellow  and  blue,  etc.). 

(2)  Sensations  of  Colour. — The  colours  of  the  solar 
spectrum,  which  may  be  taken  as  standard  or  normal 


Fig.  3.  — Two  discs,  cut  for  mounting  upon 
the  colour  wheel.  The  Figure  shows  the 
way  in  which  they  are  fitted  together  for 
rotation. 


§12.  The  Quality  of  Visual  Sensations 


4 7 


colours,  are  named : red,  orange,  yellow,  green,  blue, 
indigo-blue  and  violet.  To  these  may  be  added  purple, 
a colour  compounded  of  red  and  violet,  and  lying  for  sen- 
sation midway  between  these  qualities.  Purple  is  com- 
plementary to  spectral  green ; and  also  produces  the 
sensation  of  brightness  when  mixed  with  yellow  and  blue. 
We  speak  further  of  reddish  orange,  greenish  blue,  etc. 
There  are  thus  some  twenty-five  words  and  phrases  in 
ordinary  use  as  names  of  the  spectral  colours.1  But  here 
again,  the  eye,  when  placed  under  experimental  conditions, 
is  found  to  distinguish  far  better  than  language  does : we 
can  discriminate,  if  the  purples  are  included  in  the  sum, 
about  1 50  spectral  colour  qualities. 

Method. — Two  entirely  similar  spectra  are  thrown  upon  a wall' 
one  lying  directly  above  the  other.  The  upper  spectrum  is  then 
shut  off  from  view  by  a black  screen,  in  which  a narrow  upright 
slit  is  cut ; nothing  is  seen  of  it,  therefore,  but  a single  line  of 
colour,  — say,  of  red,  — coming  through  the  slit.  A similar  screen, 
with  a similar  slit,  is  placed  over  the  lower  spectrum.  The  ob- 
server moves  this  second  screen  to  and  fro,  until  the  line  of  red 
appearing  through  its  slit  is  just  different  in  sensation  from  the 
line  of  red  seen  through  the  slit  of  the  upper  screen.  The  lower 
slit  is  then  left  in  place,  and  the  upper  screen  moved  until  another 
just  different  red  is  obtained.  The  lower  screen  is  thereupon 
moved  again,  — and  so  on,  until  the  whole  band  of  colours  has 
been  passed  over ; each  in  turn,  as  it  shows  through  the  slit,  be- 
ing compared  with  the  next  preceding  colour  quality.  Every 
‘just  different’  colour  is  a conscious  element. 

Colour  sensations,  of  a quite  simple  nature,  but  different 
from  the  colours  of  the  spectral  series,  are  produced  by  the 

1 Red,  reddish  orange,  orange-red,  orange,  orange-yellow,  yellowish  orange, 
yellow,  yellowish  green,  greenish  yellow,  green,  greenish  blue,  bluish  green, 
blue,  indigo-blue,  bluish  violet,  indigo-violet,  violet-blue,  violet,  purplish  violet, 
violet-purple,  purple,  purplish  red,  reddish  purple,  violet-red,  reddish  violet. 


48 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


mixture  of  mixed  with  pure  light.  Thus  pink  results  from 
the  mixing  of  red  and  white  ; brown  from  that  of  black 
and  yellow ; mauve  from  that  of  purple  and  white.  Each 
of  the  150  spectral  colours  may  be  combined  in  this  way 
with  each  of  the  700  brightness  qualities.  But  the  more 
white  or  black  we  mix  with  a colour,  the  harder  does  it 
become  to  distinguish  that  colour  from  other  colours. 
Hence,  instead  of  having  150x700  colour  sensations  of 
this  mixed  origin,  we  have  only  about  1 50  x 200,  or 
30,000. 

Method. — Two  spectra  are  thrown  on  a wall,  as  before.  The 
two  screens  are  so  adjusted  as  to  show  precisely  the  same  line  of 
colour  — say,  of  red  — in  both  spectra.  The  light  from  which 
the  lower  spectrum  is  taken  is  then  slowly  brightened,  until  its  red 
line  is  just  lighter  (pinker)  than  the  red  line  of  the  upper  spec- 
trum. Thereupon  the  upper  light  is  brightened,  till  its  red  line 
is  of  a just  lighter  quality  than  the  pink  of  the  lower  spectrum. 
The  process  is  repeated,  until  one  of  the  originally  red  lines  is  so 
highly  illuminated  that  the  red  is  lost,  and  only  white  is  visible. 
The  reverse  method  is  then  followed,  each  red  line  being  darkened 
in  turn,  until  one  of  the  reds  becomes  black. 

Every  one  of  the  150  spectral  qualities  must  be  lightened  and 
darkened  in  this  way,  until  the  full  number  of ‘just  lighter’  and 
‘just  darker  ’ colours  has  been  made  out. 

We  possess,  therefore,  about  700  +150  + 30,000  quali- 
ties of  visual  sensation  : we  have  to  search  in  the  structure 
and  function  of  the  eye  for  the  conditions  of  some  30,850 
conscious  elements.  For  the  qualities  are  all  equally 
elemental  as  sensations,  however  different  the  physical 
processes  (stimuli)  with  which  they  are  connected. 

Various  explanations  have  been  offered,  by  physiologists 
and  psychologists,  of  the  changes  set  up  in  the  eye  by  the 
action  of  light.  It  is  impossible,  in  the  present  state  of  our 


§ 12.  The  Quality  of  Visual  Sensations  49 

knowledge,  to  say  decisively  what  the  conditions  of  visual 
sensations  are.  We  may,  perhaps,  suppose  that  light  which 
falls  upon  the  retina  gives  rise  to  two  processes  of  chem- 
ical decomposition : one  of  them  (the  achromatic  process) 
dependent  upon  the  intensity  of  the  light  (the  ‘ height  ’ or 
amplitude  of  the  light-wave),  and  the  other  (the  chromatic 
process)  upon  its  wave-length.  To  the  former  corre- 
sponds the  sensation  of  brightness,  to  the  latter  that  of 
colour.  We  must  further  suppose  that  when  waves  of 
certain  different  lengths  are  mixed,  — waves  of  all  possible 
lengths,  waves  of  three  lengths  (properly  selected  and 
proportioned),  and  waves  of  two  lengths  (if  these  are  com- 
plementary),— their  undulations  cancel  one  another;  so 
that  we  have  no  sensation  or  colour  (connected  with  the 
chromatic  process),  but  only  a sensation  of  brightness 
(connected  with  the  achromatic  process). 

It  must  be  carefully  noted  that  although  the  achromatic  process 
is  excited  by  the  intensity  of  a light  stimulus,  the  sensations  con- 
nected with  it  — black,  white,  grey  — differ  in  quality.  We  shall 
return  to  the  point  later  (§  24). 

The  various  sets  of  three  pure  lights  (red,  green  and  violet; 
red,  yellow  and  blue  ; orange,  green  and  violet ; purple,  — we  have 
admitted  purple  to  the  rank  of  a spectral  colour, — yellow  and 
blue,  etc.)  which,  when  mixed  in  certain  proportions,  arouse  the 
sensation  of  brightness,  will,  if  mixed  in  certain  other  proportions, 
arouse  that  of  colour  : and  it  is  possible,  by  varying  the  propor- 
tions, to  get  from  each  set  of  three  all  the  different  colour  quali- 
ties. But  red,  green  and  violet  give  far  richer  and  more  brilliant 
colours,  when  rightly  combined,  than  do  any  other  three  qualities. 
Hence  these  are  known  as  the  primary  colours  of  the  spectrum. 

There  are  four  spectral  colours  which  are  of  especial  interest  in 
practical  life  : green,  blue  (§  5),  red  and  yellow.  Red  is  the 
colour  of  blood  (Skt.  rudhira,  Icel.  rothra,  blood)  ; yellow  is  the 
pale  colour  of  young  vegetation  (Gk.  yfor\,  fkupop),  and  thus  has 
£ 


5° 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


the  same  significance,  derivatively,  as  green.  These  four  colours 
are  known  as  the  principal  colours  of  the  spectrum.  We  are  no 
longer  interested  in  them  for  the  reasons  which  drew  the  attention 
of  primitive  man  to  them ; but  they  are  of  such  great  impor- 
tance in  painting  that  the  term  ‘ principal  ’ is  still  in  place.  They 
are  no  simpler,  as  conscious  processes,  than  the  other  colour 
qualities. 

The  word  ‘ mixture  ’ in  this  Section  means  always  mixture  of 
lights,  and  not  of  pigments  (paints).  Mixture  of  blue  and  orange 
light  gives  a sensation  of  grey  : mixture  of  blue  and  orange  paints 
gives  a sensation  of  green.  The  blue  pigment  crystals  reflect 
blue  and  green  light,  the  orange  crystals  orange,  yellow  and  green 
light.  The  blue  and  orange  cancel  each  other,  and  only  a yellow- 
ish green  is  left  to  be  seen. 

§ 13.  The  Quality  of  Auditory  Sensations.  — The  stimulus 
to  hearing  is  sound.  From  the  physical  point  of  view, 
sound  is  a movement  of  the  air  particles.  The  movement 
may  be  continued  and  regular  (sound-wave)  or  momentary 
(shock  or  concussion)  ; or  it  may  consist  of  mixtures  of 
waves  and  shocks,  or  of  successions  of  shocks.  A sound- 
wave excites  the  sensation  of  tone  ; a mere  concussion,  or 
a wave  movement  of  less  than  two  complete  undulations, 
the  sensation  of  simple  noise.  The  other  forms  of  air 
movement  are  connected  with  complex  auditory  processes. 

What  we  commonly  call  the  ‘ pitch  ’ or  ‘ height  ’ of 
tones  is  their  psychological  ‘ quality.’  Differences  in  the 
quality  of  simple  noises  may  also  be  conveniently  ex- 
pressed by  these  terms,  although  they  are  ordinarily  em- 
ployed only  with  reference  to  tone. 

(1)  Sensations  of  Tone.  — We  speak  of  tones  as  ‘high  ’ 
and  ‘ low,’  ‘ harsh  ’ and  ‘ clear,’  ‘ shrill  ’ and  ‘ mellow  ’ ; 
and  we  distinguish  ‘ thin  ’ tones  from  tones  which  possess 
‘ volume,’  etc.  We  also  have  symbolic  names  for  the 


§ 13.  The  Quality  of  Auditory  Sensations  51 

twelve  tones  comprised  within  each  of  the  seven  octaves 
of  the  musical  scale:  CQ,  Et,  b\l,  </2 * *#,  a5ty,  etc.  When 
accurately  tested,  however,  the  ear  is  found  to  be  master 
of  a much  wider  range  of  tones  than  language  indicates ; 
we  can  hear  about  11,000  different  tones. 

Method.  — One  of  two  precisely  similar  tuning-forks  has  its  tone 
lowered  or  ‘ flatted  ’ a little  by  the  attachment  of  a small  weight 
to  each  of  its  prongs.  The  forks  are  struck,  one  after  the  other, 
at  an  interval  of  a few  seconds,  and  the  listener  is  required  to  say 
whether  their  tones  seem  to  him  alike  or  different.  The  flatting 
is  increased,  until  he  finds  the  tones  just  different.  Then  the 
weighted  fork  is  taken  as  standard,  and  the  other  weighted  a little 
more  heavily,  — until  its  tone  appears  just  different  from  (flatter 
than)  the  slightly  lowered  tone  of  the  first  experiment.  The  tests 
are  repeated  upon  a large  number  of  forks  of  different  natural 
pitch,  so  that  no  tone  quality  which  can  possibly  be  sensed  is 
missed.  It  will  be  found  in  this  way  that  tone  sensations  furnish 
the  11,000  conscious  elements  mentioned  above. 

(2)  Sensations  of  Simple  Noise.  — Language  has  sev- 
eral words  to  express  different  kinds  of  simple  noises : 
snap,  rap,  tap,  puff,  pop,  shock,  crack,  flick,  thud,  etc. 
We  also  use  various  adjectives  to  indicate  various  noise 
qualities  : ‘ sharp  ’ crack,  ‘ dull  ’ thud,  etc.  As  usual,  how- 
ever, the  sense-organ  can  draw  finer  distinctions  than  are 
drawn  by  language:  we  can  discriminate  some  550  quali- 
ties of  simple  noise. 

Method.  — If  a tuning-fork  is  struck,  and  more  than  two  of  the 
air-waves  which  its  vibration  occasions  are  allowed  to  reach  the 

ear,  we  hear  a tone.  If  less  than  two  complete  undulations  are 
heard,  — the  rest  being  cut  off  from  the  sense-organ  by  the  drop- 
ping of  a sound-proof  screen  between  it  and  the  fork,  — we  get 
a sensation  not  of  tone  but  of  simple  noise. 

Two  forks  are  taken,  as  in  the  previous  experiment.  Let  us 


52 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


suppose  that  one  vibrates  128  times  in  the  1 sec.,  and  the  other 
(the  flatted  fork)  126  times.  The  former  is  sounded  for  some- 
thing less  than  yyw  sec->  ar*d  the  latter  for  something  less  than 
j-|g-  sec. ; and  the  observer  notes  whether  the  two  noises  are  of 
like  or  different  quality  (height  or  pitch).  If  they  are  alike,  the 
experimenter  flats  the  flatted  fork  still  further,  until  the  observer 
remarks  a difference  in  noise  quality.  A record  is  then  made ; 
and  the  experiment  proceeds  as  in  the  case  of  tones. 

Most  of  the  noises  which  we  are  accustomed  to  hear  (crash, 
roar,  hiss,  rattle,  splash,  clatter,  etc.)  are  of  a complex  nature, 
comprising  several  simple  noises  or  a number  of  these  mixed  with 
tones. 

Sound  is  received  into  the  outer  passage  of  the  ear, 
conveyed  inwards  by  a series  of  vibrating  bodies  (elastic 
membrane,  chain  of  small  bones,  etc.),  and  finally  produces 
a movement  in  the  water  (endolymph)  of  the  cochlea  of 
the  internal  ear.  The  cochlea  is  a hollow  tube,  through 
the  whole  length  of  which  is  stretched  a membrane,  the 
basilar  membrane.  The  cross-fibres  of  this  membrane  are 
arranged  like  the  strings  upon  the  backboard  of  a piano ; 
they  are  very  short  at  the  beginning  (treble  strings)  and 
gradually  increase  in  length  as  the  membrane  continues 
(bass  strings).  Each  cross-fibre  carries  sensitive  cells, 
with  which  the  fibrils  of  the  auditory  nerve  are  connected. 
A movement  of  the  water  in  the  tube  excites  the  cells 
standing  upon  particular  strings  or  cross-fibres.  Only 
those  strings  are  affected,  in  a given  case,  whose  vibra- 
tions correspond  to  the  sound  outside  the  ear  which 
causes  the  movement  of  the  water.  Every  string  may 
thus  be  said  to  be  ‘ tuned  ’ to  a certain  sound-wave. 

We  ma,y  illustrate  this  process  by  supposing  that  the  top  of  an 
upright  piano  is  turned  back,  and  a word  shouted  into  the  body 
of  the  instrument.  The  piano  is  ‘ set  ringing  ’ ; certain  strings  are 


§ 14-  The  Quality  of  Olfactory  Sensations  53 

thrown  into  vibration,  because  the  speaking  voice  contained  cer- 
tain tones  to  which  those  strings  are  ‘ tuned.’  Different  strings 
respond,  according  as  the  word  is  pitched  high  or  low. 

The  sensation  of  tone  arises  when  a fibre  of  the  basilar 
membrane  is  made  to  vibrate  regularly  by  more  than  two 
successive  wave  movements  of  the  endolynqrh ; that  of 
noise,  when  a fibre  gives  a jerk  or  twitch,  in  answer  to 
a single  push  or  less  than  two  cornplete  wave  movements 
of  the  endolymph.  Physically,  therefore,  a simple  noise 
is  merely  an  imperfect  tone.  There  is  no  sharp  line  of 
division  between  the  stimuli : two  complete  wave  move- 
ments will  give  rise  now  to  one  and  now  to  the  other 
sensation.  The  sensations  themselves  are,  however,  quite 
distinct. 

§ 14.  The  Quality  of  Olfactory  Sensations.  — Smells  are 
ordinarily  classified  as  agreeable  and  disagreeable,  and 
named  after  the  objects  which  give  rise  to  them  (musk, 
violet,  etc.)  without  regard  to  their  likeness  or  unlikeness 
in  sensation.  It  is  impossible,  in  the  present  state  of  our 
knowledge,  to  say  how  many  qualities  of  smell  the  nose 
can  distinguish.  In  all  probability  the  number  is  very 
large.  It  is  also  probable  that  smells  fall  into  groups 
of  similar  qualities,  and  that  the  members  of  each  group 
form  graded  series,  like  those  of  tone  or  brightness. 

Method.  — Prepare  a number  of  solutions  of  odoriferous  sub- 
stances. Close  one  nostril  with  cotton-wool,  and  sniff  at  a solution 
until  you  can  smell  it  no  longer.  This  will  soon  happen,  as  the 
nose  is  easily  fatigued.  Then  sniff  at  another.  If  this  is  smelled, 
its  quality  differs  from  that  of  the  first  solution  ; if  you  cannot 
smell  it,  its  scent  is  the  same  as  the  scent  for  which  the  nose  has 
been  fatigued.  If  you  exhaust  the  sense  of  smell  by  tincture  of 
iodine,  you  will  find  that  you  can  still  smell  oil  of  lavender,  but 


54 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


that  you  cannot  smell  alcohol  at  all.  If  you  fatigue  the  nose  with 
ammonium  sulphide,  you  will  still  be  able  to  smell  oil  of  anise,  oil 
of  turpentine,,  oil  of  lemon  and  eau  de  Cologne  ; but  you  will  be 
unable  to  smell  sulphuretted  hydrogen,  hydrochloric  acid  (7  parts 
of  concentrated  solution  to  50  of  water)  and  bromine  solu- 

tion). These  facts  mean  that  the  quality  or  complex  of  qualities 
in  tincture  of  iodine. is  entirely  different  from  that  of  oil  of  lav- 
ender, but  contains  or  is  contained  in  the  alcohol  quality  or  quali- 
ties. And  so  with  the  ammonium  sulphide. 

The  method  assumes  that  the  sensitive  cells,  set  in  the  mucous 
membrane  of  the  nose,  respond  some  to  one  quality  of  scent  and 
some  to  another,  so  that  when  one  cell-group  is  exhausted, 
others  are  still  fresh.  The  assumption  seems  to  be  justified  by 
the  results  of  experiments  upon  taste  (§  15)  : the  organs  of  the 
two  senses  are  very  similar. 

Substantives  like  ‘ scent,’  ‘ odour,’  ‘ perfume,’  ‘ bouquet,’  and 
adjectives  like  ‘ aromatic,’  ‘ fragrant,’  ‘ redolent,’  ‘ savoury,’  are 
either  quite  general  terms  (corresponding  to  ‘ bright,’  ‘ colour,’ 
‘ flavour,’  in  other  sense  departments)  or  refer  to  objects  grouped 
together  for  practical  purposes  (cookery,  the  toilet,  etc.).  They 
do  not  help  us  towards  a psychological  classification  of  smell 
qualities. 

§ 15.  The  Quality  of  Gustatory  Sensations.  — There  are 
four  qualities  of  taste : sweet,  bitter,  acid  and  salt.  All 
the  other  ‘ tastes  ’ of  which  we  speak  in  everyday  life  are 
complex  perceptions. 

Thus  the  * taste  ’ of  lemonade  is  made  up  of  a sweet  taste,  an 
acid  taste,  a scent  (the  fragrance  of  lemon),  a sensation  of  tem- 
perature and  a pricking  (cutaneous)  sensation.  The  ‘ taste  ’ of 
lime-water  is  made  up  of  a weakly  sweet  taste,  a sensation  of 
nausea  (common  sensation),  a sensation  of  temperature  and  a 
biting  (cutaneous)  sensation.  The  ‘ taste  ’ of  tea  is  made  up  of  a 
bitter  taste,  a scent,  a temperature  sensation  and  an  astringent 
(cutaneous)  sensation.  ‘Tea  tasters’  and  ‘wine  tasters’  should 
rather  be  called  ‘ tea  ’ and  ‘ wine  smellers.’ 


§ 15-  The  Quality  of  Gustatory  Sensations  55 

Sensations  of  brightness,  colour,  noise,  tone  and  (prob- 
ably) smell  form  unbroken  series  of  qualities.  We  can 
pass  gradually  from  black  to  white,  through  intermediate 
shades  of  grey ; we  can  pass  from  bass  to  treble,  without 
any  break  or  interruption  of  the  scale,  etc.  The  sensations 
of  taste,  on  the  contrary,  do  not  constitute  a series  ; ‘ sweet  ’ 
is  not  in  any  way  nearer  or  more  like  ‘ acid  ’ than  it  is  like 
‘salt.’  Each  of  the  four  qualities  stands  out  distinctly 
by  itself,  so  that  if  we  did  not  know  that  all  four  came 
from  the  tongue,  we  might  be  disposed  to  think  that  they 
belonged  to  separate  senses. 

Tastes,  however,  resemble  visual  sensations  in  the  fact 
that  they  contrast  with  one  another.  A red  seen  upon  a 
bluish  green  background  seems  redder  than  would  other- 
wise be  the  case ; and  white  seen  after  black  seems  more 
brilliant.  So  an  acid  seems  more  sour  after  a sweet ; and 
salt  and  sweet,  if  applied  at  the  same  time  to  different 
parts  of  the  tongue,  are  salter  and  sweeter  than  they  would 
be  if  sensed  singly. 

Method.  — Seat  yourself  before  a concave  (enlarging)  mirror, 
and  put  your  tongue  out.  You  will  notice  that  the  pink  skin  of 
the  tip  is  dotted  with  redder,  darker,  and  more  transparent-looking 
flecks.  These  are  the  papilla  fungiformes,  little  folds  of  mucous 
membrane,  in  which  are  planted  the  sensitive  cells  forming  the 
organs  of  the  nerve  of  taste.  Dip  fine  camel’s-hair  brashes  into 
the  solutions  which  you  wish  to  test,  and  apply  them  carefully  to 
single  papillse.  The  tongue  must  be  dried,  to  prevent  the  solution 
from  ‘ running  ’ ; and  the  nose  closed,  to  prevent  any  interference 
of  smell  with  taste  proper.  You  will  find  that  the  only  sensations 
obtainable  are  those  of  sweet,  bitter,  acid,  and  (weakly)  salt. 

To  test  contrast,  fill  the  mouth  with  a sour  solution  ; then  spit 
this  out,  and  fill  with  a sweet  liquid  : or  brush  sweet  on  one  side 
of  the  tip  of  the  tongue,  and  salt  on  the  other.  To  prove  the 


56 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


absence  of  simultaneous  contrast  in  the  domain  of  smell,  place 
tubes  containing  different  scents  in  the  two  nostrils,  and  sniff. 
You  will  either  have  a single  smell  throughout  the  experiment;  or 
the  two  smells  will  be  sensed  alternately,  neither  affecting  the 
other.  It  is  doubtful  whether  there  is  a successive  smell  contrast. 
Tones  and  noises  do  not  contrast  with  one  another  when  simul- 
taneously heard ; and  probably  do  not,  when  heard  successively. 
Musical  contrast  is  affective  (§  56),  not  sensible. 

§ 16.  The  Quality  of  Cutaneous  Sensations.  — The  skin 
can  be  stimulated  both  mechanically  (by  pressure,  a blow, 
tickling,  etc.)  and  thermally  (by  the  application  to  it  of  hot 
and  cold  objects). 

( 1 ) Sensations  connected  with  Mechanical  Stimulation.  — 
In  the  spheres  of  sight,  hearing  and  smell  there  are  far  more 
sensation  qualities  than  there  are  names  to  indicate  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  language  is  rich  in  names  for  ‘ tastes  ’ ; 
but  these  names  indicate,  not  simple  sensation  qualities, 
but  mental  processes  which  are  really  of  a complex  nature, 
and  arise  from  the  excitation  of  two  or  more  senses.  The 
mechanical  cutaneous  sense  resembles  that  of  taste  in  this 
respect.  We  are  apt  to  speak  of  ‘ sensations  ’ of  touch, 
resistance,  impact,  tickling,  etc.,  and  to  think  of  them  as 
coming  to  us  exclusively  through  the  skin.  In  reality, 
these  processes  are  all  mixtures  of  cutaneous  and  organic 
sensations.  There  are  only  two  qualities  of  the  mechan- 
ical cutaneous  sense  : the  qualities  of  pressure  and  pain. 

(1)  Co7itact  is  simply  a very  light  pressure  : there  is  no  differ- 
ence of  quality  between  the  two  experiences.  (2)  Hardness 
and  Softness  are  primarily  differences  of  the  intensity  of  pressure. 
Often,  too,  they  contain  certain  of  the  organic  qualities  connected 
with  bodily  movement,  and  sometimes  qualities  of  temperature  (a 
‘soft’  is  either  a ‘clammy’  or  a ‘warm  soft’).  (3)  Sharpness 
and  Bluntness  are  primarily  differences  of  the  extent  of  press- 


§ 1 6.  The  Quality  of  Cutaneous  Sensations  57 

ure.  Sharpness  often  contains  in  it  the  further  quality  of  pain. 
(4)  Roughness  and  Smoothness  differ  as  interrupted  and  continuous 
extent  of  pressure.  A full  appreciation  of  either  requires  move- 
ment over  the  rough  or  smooth  surface  : if  a rough  or  smooth  ob- 
ject be  pressed  down  upon  the  passive  skin,  no  difference  is  sensed 
until  the  pressure  becomes  quite  intensive.  Then  the  observer 
realises  that  he  has  in  the  one  case  a continuous  sensation  of 
uniform  intensity  (smooth),  and  in  the  other  a number  of  severe 
separate  pressures,  with  or  without  light  pressure  over  the  inter- 
vening spaces  (rough).  (5)  Wetness  and  Dryness  are  easily 
confused,  if  the  conditions  of  the  test  allow  the  skin  to  remain 
passive.  They  are  likely  to  differ  in  temperature  : but  we  or- 
dinarily distinguish  them  by  the  different  resistance  which  they 
offer  to  the  moving  hand.  (6)  Resistance  is  a complex  percep- 
tion, containing  organic  sensations  from  muscle,  sinew  and  joint, 
in  various  proportions,  as  well  as  the  cutaneous  quality  of  pressure. 
(7)  Touch  is  active  pressure,  i.e.,  pressure  plus  the  organic  sensa- 
tions arising  from  movement.  (8)  Impact,  if  the  stimulus  is 
weak,  is  a sudden  pressure,  possibly  mixed  with  the  organic  sensa- 
tion of  tickling.  If  the  stimulus  is  strong,  other  organic  sensations 
make  their  appearance  in  the  perception.  In  either  case,  an 
emotion  (surprise)  is  usually  present.  It  is  clear  that  these  terms 
are  neither  all  mutually  exclusive,  nor  all  sharply  defined. 

Many  of  the  complexes  resolved  here  into  cutaneous  and  or- 
ganic qualities  also  contain,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  a vis- 
ual quality,  remembered  or  imagined.  Thus  the  differentiation  of 
pressure  and  contact  depends  not  infrequently  on  the  fact  that 
when  we  are  pressed  with  any  degree  of  force  we  can  imagine  what 
the  object  is  which  presses  us,  whereas  contact  (very  light  pressure) 
carries  with  it  no  visual  idea  of  its  stimulus. 

So  far,  then,  analysis  justifies  our  statement  that  there  are  only 
two  qualities  of  the  mechanical  cutaneous  sense. 

Method.  — Go  over  a portion  of  the  skin  very  carefully  with  a 
pointed  pencil  of  cork  or  pith.  If  you  press  lightly,  you  will  find 
that  there  are  certain  spots  from  which  you  get  a sharp,  well-de- 
fined pressure  sensation,  while  the  intervening  spaces  are  insensi- 
tive. If  you  press  harder,  you  will  receive  more  intensive  pressure 


58 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


sensations  from  the  ‘ pressure-spots,’  and  a dull,  diffused  pressure 
sensation  from  the  intervening  spaces,  which  were  insensitive  to  less 
severe  stimulation.  — The  ‘pressure-spots’  occur  where  a sensory 
nerve-fibril  terminates  in  the  cutis ; where  there  are  no  nerves,  the 
skin  is  insensitive.  The  nerve-endings  either  twine  round  the  root  of 
a hair,  or  form  a sort  of  skein  or  tangle  just  below  the  epidermis.  The 
dull  sensation  arising  from  intensive  pressure  upon  insensitive  areas 
is  due  to  the  spread  of  stimulation  from  the  point  pressed  to  neigh- 
bouring ‘ pressure-spots.’  There  is  no  difference  in  quality  between 
the  dull  and  sharp  pressure  sensations,  or  between  those  derived 
from  the  different  nerve- endings. — For  the  quality  of  pain,  cf.§  21. 

(2)  Sensations  connected  with  Thermal  Stimulation.  — 
Language  and  scientific  observation  are  here  in  agreement. 
Both  alike  recognise  two  qualities  of  the  thermal  cuta- 
neous sense : heat  and  cold.  We  may  lay  it  down  as  a 
general  rule  that  any  stimulus  whose  temperature  is  above 
340  C.  (the  average  natural  temperature  of  the  healthy 
skin)  gives  rise  to  a sensation  of  heat,  and  that  all  stimuli 
below  that  temperature  give  rise  to  sensations  of  cold. 

Method.  — Take  a hollow  metal  tube,  brought  to  a sharp  point 
at  its  lower  end.  Fill  it  with  hot  or  cold  water,  and  pass  it  lightly 
over  a portion  of  the  skin.  Move  slowly,  but  be  careful  not  to 
fatigue  the  sense-organ.  You  will  find  that  cold  sensations,  of 
very  definite  extent,  flash  out  in  response  to  the  cold  stimulus ; 
while  the  hot  point  reveals  definite  spots  or  areas  of  the  skin 
which  are  sensitive  to  warmth.  Sometimes  the  same  cutaneous 
spot  will  answer  to  stimulation  both  by  heat  and  cold.  The  inter- 
vening spaces  are  insensitive  to  temperature. 

The  sensitive  areas  — ‘ hot  ’ and  ‘ cold  spots  ’ — of  the  skin  are 
always  found  in  the  neighbourhood  of  blood-vessels.  Like  the 
pressure-spots,  they  only  occur  where  a sensory  nerve-fibril  termi- 
nates in  the  cutis.  The  nerve-ending  underlying  a pressure-spot, 
however,  differs  in  form  from  that  found  beneath  a temperature- 
spot. 

The  ‘ internal  skin  ’ of  the  body,  or  mucous  membrane,  appears 


§ ij.  Muscular,  Tendinous,  Articular  Sensations  59 

to  be  sensitive  to  pressure  throughout  its  whole  extent,  but  insen- 
sitive to  temperature  from  the  pharnyx  downwards.  A sudden 
draught  of  cold  water  is,  undoubtedly,  sensed  internally : but 
accurate  introspection  localises  the  cold  sensation  not  in  the 
stomach,  but  in  the  body-wall.  That  is,  the  nerve-endings  affected 
are  the  same  as  those  which  are  reached  by  external  cold-stimuli. 

The  investigation  of  the  temperature  sense  is  exceedingly  diffi- 
cult, since  the  skin  adapts  itself  readily  to  wide  differences  of  out- 
side temperature.  Place  the  two  hands  in  two  bowls  of  cold 
water.  Gradually  heat  the  water  in  which  the  right  hand  is  laid, 
and  cool  that  in  which  you  have  put  the  left.  You  can  alter  the 
temperature  of  the  two  waters  very  considerably,  and  the  two  hands 
will  still  ‘feel  comfortable.’  But  now  take  the  left  hand  out  of  the 
cooled  water,  and  dip  it  into  the  bowl  of  heated  water : the  heat 
will  seem  so  great  as  to  be  painful  to  it,  though  the  right  hand 
still  experiences  only  an  agreeable  warmth.  The  two  hands  have 
become  adapted  to  different  temperatures. 

II.  Oi'ganic  Sensations 

§ 17.  The  Quality  of  Muscular,  Tendinous  and  Articular 
Sensations.  — - In  the  preceding  Sections  of  this  chapter,  in 
which  we  have  been  dealing  with  the  sensations  of  the 
special  senses,  we  have  taken  it  for  granted  that  a single 
quality  (red,  hot,  sweet)  can  be  sensed  by  itself,  independ- 
ently of  all  other  qualities.  This  is  not  strictly  true ; for 
consciousness  is  always  complex,  always  consists  of  more 
than  one  process  (§  43).  But  it  is  approximately  true. 
We  can  attend  so  strongly  to  one  simple  impression  that 
the  sensations  set  up  by  other  stimuli,  active  at  the  same 
time,  are  for  all  practical  purposes  non-existent ; and  we 
can,  further,  arrange  the  external  conditions  of  our  obser- 
vation in  such  a way  as  to  bring  the  particular  quality  into 
unusual  prominence. 


6o 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


In  the  sphere  of  organic  sensation,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
is  very  difficult  to  detach  any  single  sensation  from  those 
which  ordinarily  accompany  it.  The  simple  qualities  are 
here  so  closely  woven  together  that  the  psychologist  does 
not  even  know  what  to  look  for,  when  he  begins  his  analy- 
sis. And  the  sense-organs  within  the  body  are  not  sepa- 
rated as  are  those  upon  its  surface : muscle  and  tendon, 
e.g.,  pass  directly  into  each  other.  Nevertheless,  careful 
experiments  made  during  the  last  few  years  upon  the  nor- 
mal individual,  and  careful  observations  of  pathological 
cases  (anaesthesia  or  insensitiveness  of  particular  internal 
organs),  have  thrown  some  light  upon  the  nature  of  the 
elementary  processes  included  under  the  general  title  of 
organic  sensations. 

(i)  Muscular  Sensation.  — The  ‘voluntary’  (striped) 
muscles  of  the  body  are  supplied  with  sensory  nerves. 
The  fibrils  of  these  nerves  terminate  among  the  muscle 
fibres  just  as  the  cutaneous  nerve-fibrils  terminate  beneath 
a pressure-spot.  Muscular  contraction  occasions  a spe- 
cific sensation,  the  quality  of  which  is  indistinguishable 
from  that  of  cutaneous  pressure.  Under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, this  quality  is  too  weak  to  be  separately  sensed. 

Method.  — Lay  the  arm  comfortably  upon  a table  or  arm-rest, 
and  keep  it  steady.  Render  a portion  of  the  skin  anaesthetic,  by 
cocaine  injection,  ether  spray,  etc.  Now  press  hard  upon  the 
skin,  so  as  to  flatten  the  underlying  muscle ; or  stimulate  the 
muscle  electrically  by  a strong  induction  current,  so  that  it 
contracts.  You  will  have  a faint,  dull  sensation,  the  seat  of 
which  appears  to  be  the  muscle. 

When  you  are  aroused  from  a dream  by  fright,  you  will  notice 
a pressure  in  the  region  of  the  heart.  This  pressure  is  due  to  an 
abnormal  excitability  (hypersesthesia)  of  the  sensory  nerves  which 
terminate  in  the  cardiac  muscle. 


§ iy.  Muscular,  Tendinous,  Articular  Sensations  61 

Slight  muscular  fatigue  also  brings  out  the  specific  pressure 
quality  of  the  muscular  sensation.  Excessive  contraction  appears 
to  produce  the  sensation  of  pain:  cf.  § 21. 

(2)  Tendinous  Sensation.  — Like  the  muscles  to  which 
they  are  attached,  the  tendons  are  supplied  with  sensory 
nerves.  The  nerve-endings  in  tendon,  however,  are  dif- 
ferent in  form  from  those  in  muscle  or  skin.  The  specific 
quality  of  tendinous  sensation  is  not  the  quality  of  press- 
ure, but  that  of  tension  or  strain. 

Method.  — Lay  your  arm  and  hand,  palm  upwards,  upon  a 
table.  Place  a small  ball,  or  other  round  object,  in  the  palm, 
and  close  the  fingers  lightly  round  it.  Note  carefully  the  sen- 
sations which  you  are  receiving  from  hand  and  arm.  Now  grasp 
the  ball  as  tightly  with  the  fingers  as  you  can.  You  obtain, 
almost  immediately,  a new  sensation,  that  of  strain.  This  sensa- 
tion quality  is  different  from  any  skin  sensation  (pressure,  heat, 
cold)  and  from  the  muscular  sensation  observed  in  the  preceding 
experiment. 

The  new  quality  might,  however,  proceed  from  the  joints,  since 
in  curling  your  fingers  over  the  ball  you  have  altered  the  mutual 
pressure  of  various  articular  surfaces.  You  may  easily  assure 
yourself  that  it  does  not.  Let  your  arm  hang  down  loosely  by 
your  side.  Attach  a fairly  heavy  weight  by  a string  to  the  fore- 
finger. The  weight  pulls  the  surfaces  of  the  elbow  and  other 
joints  apart ; so  that  there  is  no  pressure  or  friction  of  one  sur- 
face against  another.  But  you  soon  get  the  sensation  of  strain 
throughout  the  arm. 

If  the  sensation  of  strain  is  different  from  any  sensation  obtain- 
able from  skin  or  muscle,  and  is  independent  of  stimulation  of 
the  joints,  it  must  come  from  the  tendons. 

(3)  Articular  Sensation. — The  surfaces  of  the  joints 
are  richly  supplied  with  sensory  nerves,  whose  endings 
resemble  certain  of  those  found  in  the  skin.  The  quality 
of  articular  sensation,  like  that  of  muscular,  is  not  distin- 
guishable from  pressure.  But  the  articular  sensation  is 


62 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


far  more  important  than  the  muscular,  since  (as  we  shall 
see  later,  § 46)  it  is  one  of  the  two  principal  sources  from 
which  we  obtain  knowledge  of  the  position  or  movement 
of  the  limbs. 

Method. — Tie  a moderately  heavy  weight  by  a string  to  the 
forefinger  of  the  right  hand.  Lay  a soft  cushion  on  the  floor,  so 
that  the  striking  of  the  weight  upon  it  will  not  be  heard.  Close 
the  eyes  and  lower  the  hand  quickly,  till  the  weight  rests  upon  the 
cushion.  At  the  moment  of  striking,  you  experience  a push  up- 
ward, as  if  the  string  had  become  rigid  and  were  thrust  against 
you.  The  push  is  localised  within  the  arm.  It  is  due  to  the 
spring  back  of  the  lower  against  the  upper  articular  surfaces, 
which  takes  place  when  the  limb  is  released  from  the  pull  of 
the  weight.  It  can  only  be  described  as  a pressure  sensation. 

§ 18.  The  Quality  of  the  Alimentary  Sensations.  — Here 
we  seem  to  find  at  least  three  new  qualities : those  of 
hunger,  thirst  and  nausea.  Each  of  these  experiences  is 
complex ; but  each  appears  to  contain,  in  addition  to  sen- 
sations of  pressure  and  temperature,  a specific  quality. 

(1)  Hunger  is  localised  in  the  stomach.  When  the  stomach 
has  digested  a mass  of  food,  its  walls  begin  to  dry,  and  fall  into  folds 
or  ridges.  The  dryness  and  folding  somehow  stimulate  the  nerve- 
endings  in  the  mucous  membrane  of  the  stomach.  There  then 
arises  the  organic  sensation  of  hunger.  (2)  Thirst  is  localised  in 
the  mouth  and  pharnyx.  A dryness  of  the  mucous  membrane  in 
this  region  somehow  stimulates  the  nerve-endings.  We  do  not  know 
precisely  in  what  way  the  thirst  sensation  is  set  up.  It  can  be  re- 
moved by  painting  the  back  of  the  mouth  with  a weak  solution  of 
citric  acid.  (3)  The  specific  quality  of  nausea  seems  to  be  due  to 
the  pressure  upon  the  nerve-endings  in  the  oesophagus  which  occurs 
during  the  first  stages  of  the  vomiting  reflex.  It  may  be  that  this 
quality  is  that  of  pressure  (ef.  joint  and  muscle).  Nausea  usually 
contains  sensations  of  taste,  smell  and  giddiness ; and  its  compo- 
nents are  so  intimately  blended  that  analysis  is  exceedingly  difficult. 


§ 20.  The  Quality  of  the  Static  Sense  63 

§ 19.  The  Quality  of  the  Circulatory,  Respiratory  and  Sex- 
ual Sensations. — (1)  Tickling,  itching,  tingling,  pins  and 
needles,  feverishness,  etc.,  are  not  simple  sensation  quali- 
ties, but  complexes,  made  up  of  sensations  of  cutaneous 
pressure,  sensations  of  temperature,  and  organic  sensations 
called  forth  by  alteration  in  the  circulation  of  the  blood.  It 
is  doubtful  whether  these  organic  sensations  are  novel  qual- 
ities. (2)  The  action  of  the  lungs,  like  that  of  the  heart, 
does  not  normally  excite  sensation.  But  in  the  complex  per- 
ceptions of  freshness  and  closeness  of  the  atmosphere,  of 
breathlessness,  of  a ‘bracing’  air,  in  the  ‘feeling’  of  suffo- 
cation, etc.,  the  stimulation  of  nerve-endings  within  the  lungs 
themselves  apparently  arouses  a true  respiratory  sensation. 
(3)  The  sex  organs  furnish  a specific  sensation  quality. 
They  are  also  sensitive  to  pressure  and  temperature. 

Tickling  can  be  produced  by  moving  a pencil,  lightly  or  inter- 
mittently, over  the  palm  of  the  hand ; tingling  by  keeping  the 
legs  crossed  at  the  knee  until  the  upper  one  ‘ goes  to  sleep,’  and 
then  uncrossing.  It  is  noteworthy  that  tingling  can  also  be  occa- 
sioned by  a jar  upon  a nerve  trunk,  as  is  shown  by  the  effect  of  a 
blow  upon  the  elbow  (‘  funny  bone  ’). 

§ 20.  The  Quality  of  the  Static  Sense.  — The  internal  ear 
consists  of  the  cochlea  (§  13),  the  vestibule  and  the  semi- 
circular canals.  The 
vestibule  is  a membra- 
nous bag  filled  with 
endolymph.  The  ca- 
nals — also  composed 
of  membrane,  and 
filled  with  endolymph 
— are  three  semicir- 
cular tubes,  arranged 


a 


Fig.  4.  — Diagram  (schematic)  of  the  internal 
ear,  in  longitudinal  section,  a,  semicircu- 
lar canals;  b,  cochlea;  c,  basilar  membrane; 
d,  vestibule. 


64 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


in  the  three  planes  of  space.  All  three  structures  are  con- 
tinuous ; but  the  two  last  constitute  a special  organ,  dis- 
tinct in  function  from  the  cochlea.  They  possess  a special 
nerve,  whose  fibrils  terminate  in  hair-cells,  planted  in  the 
walls  of  the  vestibule  and  at  the  bases  of  the  canals. 

There  is  good  evidence  for  the  hypothesis  that  the 
canals  and  vestibule  constitute  an  apparatus  which  assists 
us  to  maintain  our  equilibrium  and  to  estimate  correctly 
our  position  in  space.  As  we  move  our  head  or  body  in 
different  directions,  the  endolymph  washes  against  differ- 
ent groups  of  hair-cells,  and  the  nerve-fibrils  are  thus  stim- 
ulated. Ordinarily,  the  action  of  the  apparatus  is  not 
attended  by  sensation  (cf.  heart  and  lungs);  but  if  equi- 
librium is  seriously  disturbed,  or  our  position  in  space 
abnormal,  we  receive  from  the  vestibular  nerve-endings 
the  organic  sensation  of  giddiness.1 

Method.  — Twirl  round  quickly  upon  your  heels  for  a few 
seconds.  When  you  stop,  your  equilibrium  is  uncertain,  you  stag- 
ger; and  at  the  same  time  you  ‘ feel  dizzy.’  A sudden  sharp  jerk 
of  the  head  towards  one  side,  or  up  or  down,  produces  a momen- 
tary dizziness.  Or  place  yourself  in  an  abnormal  position,  upon 
your  head,  upon  a narrow  plank  over  a deep  ravine,  etc.  Again 
you  have  the  organic  sensation  of  giddiness. 

The  evidence  for  the  view  that  giddiness  proceeds  from  the  in- 
ternal ear  is  derived  from  three  sources,  (i)  Psychological  experi- 
ments have  been  made  by  the  aid  of  the  ‘ tilt-board  ’ and  ‘ rotation 
table.’  These  are  beds  or  tables,  upon  which  the  subject  is  laid 
at  full  length.  The  tilt-board  can  be  slanted,  see-saw  fashion,  in 
either  direction,  so  that  the  subject’s  head  or  feet  may  be  raised  or 
lowered  through  any  angle.  The  rotation  table  can  be  revolved, 
at  any  angle  of  inclination.  The  subject  is  tilted,  or  rotated,  with 
eyes  shut ; and,  this  done,  is  required  to  open  his  eyes  and  judge 
of  the  position  of  certain  objects  shown  in  the  field  of  vision.  The 
results  of  such  experiments  point  to  the  existence  of  a special 

1 For  another  possible  quality  of  the  static  sense  cj.  § 48. 


§21.  Pain 


65 


mechanism,  situated  in  the  head,  which  subserves  equilibration,  etc. 
(2)  Pathological  observation  helps  us  to  determine  what  this  organ 
is,  and  to  bring  it  into  connection  with  the  sensation  of  giddiness. 
If  patients  with  damaged  vestibule  and  canals  are  twirled  upon  the 
rotation  table  or  in  a rotating  chair,  they  neither  become  giddy, 
nor  make  any  allowance  for  centrifugal  force,  as  the  normal  sub- 
ject does.  (3)  Vivisection  confirms  pathology.  An  animal  whose 
canals  have  been  cut  cannot  maintain  its  equilibrium. 

It  might  be  thought  that  as  all  three  parts  of  the  internal  ear  are 
continuous  in  structure,  and  as  the  mode  of  excitation  of  nerve-end- 
ings in  vestibule  and  canals  is  the  same  as  that  in  the  cochlea,  — in 
all  cases  it  is  the  impact  of  water  upon  the  hairs  of  sensitive  cells,  — 
the  static  sense  should  be  numbered,  with  audition,  among  the  spe- 
cial senses.  But  although  the  mode  of  excitation  is  the  same,  the 
cochlear  stimulus  — an  air-wave  — is  externally  originated,  while 
the  stimulus  to  giddiness  is  internal,  a change  in  the  organ  itself. 

§ 21.  Pain,  — Pain  seems  to  be,  like  pressure,  both  a 
specific  (cutaneous)  and  an  organic  sensation  quality.  It 
is  set  up  both  by  injury  to  the  epidermis  and  by  excessive 
muscular  contraction.  The  concrete  pain  excited  by  a 
dazzling  light  or  a cut  of  the  finger  contains  three  distinct 
factors  : a sensation  of  special  sense  (light  or  cutaneous 
pressure),  the  sensation  of  pain,  and  a severe  unpleasant- 
ness (§  31).  In  extreme  pain,  the  first  of  these  factors  is 
far  outweighed  by  the  other  two.  But  we  always  know 
that  it  is  the  finger  which  is  cut,  a tooth  that  is  aching, 
the  alimentary  canal  which  is  giving  us  colic  pains,  etc.  ; 
and  this  knowledge  of  locality  comes  from  a sensation  of 
special  sense  or  specific  organic  quality  contained,  besides 
pain  proper,  in  the  complex  experience. 

The  mechanism  of  the  muscular  pains  (pains  of  eye-muscles, 
from  blinding  light ; of  ear-muscles,  from  shrill  sounds,  etc.)  is 
not  yet  fully  understood.  The  epidermis,  the  rigid  covering  of  the 
elastic  cutis,  contains  free  nerve-endings.  Moderate  mechanical 

F 


66 


The  Quality  of  Sensation 


stimulation  leaves  these  unaffected,  passing  through  at  once  to  the 
cutis ; when  the  epidermis  is  cut  or  bruised,  however,  its  nerves 
respond  by  way  of  pain. 

All  the  sensations  and  sensation-complexes  described  above 
under  the  heading  of  organic  sensations,  together  with  certain 
of  the  sensations  of  special  sense  (temperature,  e.g.)  were  for- 
merly called  ‘ common  ’ sensations.  It  was  believed  that  they 
could  be  occasioned  by  the  stimulation  of  any,  or  at  least  of  more 
than  one,  group  of  sensory  nerves.  They  were  looked  upon,  that 
is,  as  ‘ common  ’ to  several  different  sense-departments. 

Until  quite  recently,  there  was  good  reason  for  thinking  that 
pain  was  a common  sensation  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  term : 
a sensation  producible  by  excessive  stimulation  of  any  sensory 
nerve  (optic,  cutaneous,  etc.).  It  is  now  probable  that  pain  is 
derived  only  from  skin  and  striped  muscles.  Pressure  is,  there- 
fore, more  nearly  a common  sensation  than  pain  : it  can  be  set  up 
by  stimulation  of  nerve-endings  in  skin  and  mucous  membrane,  in 
striped  muscle  and  in  joint.  We  may  regard  pressure  and  pain 
as  the  most  primitive  sensations  of  the  organism,  the  first  to 
appear  in  the  course  of  mental  evolution. 

There  are  many  other  names  for  complexes  of  organic  sensa- 
tions, besides  those  noticed  in  the  text.  But  there  are  no  other 
specific  sensation  qualities.  Fatigue,  drowsiness,  health,  discom- 
fort, etc.,  can  easily  be  resolved  (so  far  as  they  consist  of  sensations  : 
§ 32)  into  factors  already  mentioned. 

Method.  — It  is  difficult  to  assure  oneself  of  the  qualitative  simi- 
larity of  the  specific  (cutaneous)  and  organic  (muscular)  pains, 
because  the  presence  of  pain  is  extremely  unfavourable  to  intro- 
spection. But  the  following  method  may  be  successfully  employed. 
Press  a blunt  rod  down  upon  your  chest,  until  the  pressure  becomes 
painful,  and  let  an  assistant,  when  you  give  the  word,  sound  a pain- 
fully shrill  tone  upon  a piston  whistle.  After  a few  trials  you  will 
be  able  to  introspect  well  enough  to  convince  yourself  that  the  two 
pains  have  the  same  quality. 

§ 22.  The  Total  Number  of  Elementary  Sensations.  — Put- 
ting together  the  results  of  the  foregoing  Sections,  we  obtain 
the  following  list  of  sensation  qualities : 


§ 22.  Total  Number  of  Elementary  Sensations  67 


Eye 

3°, 85° 

Alimentary  canal  . 3 ? 

Ear  (audition)  . . 

II>55° 

Blood-vessels  . . ? 

Nose 

? 

Lungs 1 ? 

Tongue  .... 

4 

Sex  organs  ...  1 

Skin 

4 

Ear  (static  sense)  . 1 

(Muscle  .... 

2) 

Tendon  .... 

I 

More  than  42,415 

(Joint 

1) 

Each  one  of  these  forty  thousand  qualities  is  a conscious 
element , distinct  from  all  the  rest,  and  altogether  simple 
and  unanalysable.  Each  one  may  be  blended  or  con- 
nected with  others  in  various  ways,  to  form  perceptions 
and  ideas.  A large  part  of  psychology  is  taken  up  with 
the  determination  of  the  laws  and  conditions  which  govern 
the  formation  of  these  sensation  complexes. 

The  above  list  represents  the  full  resources  of  the  normal  mind. 
It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  every  normal  individual 
has  had  experience  of  all  the  qualities  enumerated.  It  is  safe  to 
say  that  no  one,  not  even  the  most  experienced  psychologist,  has 
seen  all  the  possible  visual  qualities,  heard  all  the  possible  tones, 
smelled  all  the  possible  scents,  etc.  The  list  is  a summary  of  the 
results  obtained  by  many  observers  in  the  course  of  minute  inves- 
tigations of  our  capacity  of  discrimination  in  the  various  fields  of 
sense. 

Apart  from  this,  a slight  abnormality  is  much  more  common 
than  is  ordinarily  supposed.  Very  many  people  are  more  or  less 
colour-blind ; they  confuse  red  with  green,  or  blue  with  yellow,  or 
have  a shortened  spectrum,  i.e.,  do  not  see  the  full  number  of  red 
and  violet  qualities.  Very  many  are  partially  tone-deaf,  deaf  to 
very  deep  or  very  high  tones.  Very  many  have  a defective  sense 
of  smell,  etc. 

But  when  all  allowances  are  made,  the  average  number  of  con- 
scious elements  must  run  into  the  tens  of  thousands.  And  the 
permutations  and  combinations  even  of  10,000  elements  would 
give  a very  large  stock  of  ideas. 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration  of  Sensation 

§ 23.  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration  as  Attributes  of  Sensa- 
tion. — Every  sensation  quality  possesses  a certain  strength 
or  intensity,  and  lasts  for  a certain  length  of  time.  The 
qualities  of  colour,  brightness,  and  cutaneous  and  articular 
pressure  have  always,  in  addition  to  duration  and  intensity, 
a certain  extent,  i.e.,  are  spread  over  a certain  amount  of 
space  within  the  field  of  vision  or  of  touch. 

It  is  evident  that  sensations  may  differ  very  widely  in 
all  three  respects.  We  can  hear  the  faint  sound  made  by 
the  fall  of  a pin  upon  the  floor,  and  we  can  hear  the  roar 
of  thunder  (intensity);  we  can  see  as  long  as  daylight 
lasts,  and  we  can  see  a momentary  flash  in  the  dark 
(duration) ; we  can  appreciate  the  pressure  of  a needle- 
point, or  that  of  the  water  in  which  the  whole  body  is 
immersed  (extent).  Not  only,  then,  can  each  of  the  forty 
thousand  sensation  qualities  combine  with  other  qualities, 
to  form  a perception  or  an  idea,  but  each  quality  can 
combine  at  various  intensities,  for  different  lengths  of 
time,  and,  in  the  four  cases  mentioned,  in  varying  extent. 

In  § 7 we  analysed  the  idea  of  a book  into  sensations  of  sight, 
sound,  smell,  pressure  and  strain.  These  qualities  are  present  in 
the  idea  of  every  book.  But  the  smell  of  the  leather  binding  may 
be  faint  or  strong ; the  pressure  of  the  volume  on  the  hand  may 

68 


§ 23.  Intensity , Extent  and  Duration  as  Attributes  69 

be  light  or  heavy ; the  strain  of  holding  it  great  or  small.  The 
component  sensations,  i.e.,  may  differ  widely  in  intensity.  Again  : 
the  scent,  pressure  and  strain  are  less  important  elements  of  the 
total  idea  than  are  the  qualities  of  sight.  When  we  ‘ think  of  ’ 
the  book,  we  shall  probably  recall  both  smell  and  weight ; but 
they  will  not  long  remain  as  constituents  of  our  idea.  After  a few 
seconds,  perhaps,  they  will  have  entirely  disappeared,  and  the 
idea  of  the  book  will  be  an  exclusively  visual  idea.  The  visual 
elements  persist  as  long  as  we  continue  to  think  of  the  book. 
The  component  sensations,  then,  differ  widely  in  duration.  Lastly  : 
the  yellow  of  the  gold  lettering  and  the  red  of  the  leather  cover 
are  both  sensation  qualities  contained  in  the  idea ; but  there  is 
a greater  extent  of  red  than  of  yellow. 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  a few  qualities  may  give  rise  to  a large 
number  of  different  ideas,  in  consequence  of  differences  in  inten- 
sity, duration  and  extent.  My  ideas  of  two  books  may  be  very 
different,  although  the  qualities  of  sensation  which  they  contain 
are  the  same. 

Three  questions  might  be  asked  in  connection  with 
these  three  attributes  of  sensation.  We  might  enquire : 

(1)  What  are  the  least  intensity,  extent  and  duration 
which  a sensation  may  possess  and  still  be  a sensation? 

(2)  What  are  the  greatest  intensity,  extent  and  duration 
which  a sensation  quality  can  reach  ? And  (3),  just  as  we 
asked  how  many  qualities  of  sensation  could  be  ascribed 
to  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  skin,  etc.,  so  we  might  now  ask : 
How  many  different  intensities  of  sensation  lie  between 
the  faint  sound  that  we  can  barely  hear  and  the  loud 
sound  that  is  almost  loud  enough  to  stun  us  ? How  many 
different  sizes  of  black  or  red  can  we  distinguish,  from  the 
tiny  dot  which  is  just  visible,  up  to  the  expanse  which  fills 
the  whole  field  of  vision  ? How  many  durations  of  tem- 
perature sensation  can  we  obtain,  from  the  heat  which 
flashes  in  consciousness  for  an  instant,  and  then  dis- 


70  Intensity,  Extent,  Duration  of  Sensation 

appears,  to  that  which  persists  so  long  that  it  ceases  to 
be  itself  and  is  lost  in  pain  ? 

The  first  of  these  questions  we  can  answer,  at  least  in 
a large  number  of  cases.  The  second  we  cannot  answer 
with  the  same  degree  of  certainty.  Our  answer  to  the 
last  plainly  depends  upon  our  answer  to  the  other  two. 
We  cannot  say,  e.g.,  how  many  different  intensities 
lie  between  the  two  extremes  of  sensation  — the  weakest 
and  the  strongest  — unless  we  know  what  these  two  ex- 
tremes are.  As  we  cannot  determine  the  upper  extreme 
very  certainly  and  our  knowledge  of  it  cannot  therefore 
be  very  accurate,  we  cannot  calculate  the  whole  number 
of  sensation  intensities,  and  compare  it  with  our  list  of 
sensation  qualities.  Fortunately,  the  third  question  may 
be  left  unanswered,  as  regards  all  the  three  attributes  under 
discussion,  without  any  loss  to  psychology.  We  shall  see 
later  (§  26)  that  the  attempt  to  answer  the  first  two  suggests 
another,  which  takes  the  place  of  our  present  third  question, 
and  which  can  be  satisfactorily  and  profitably  answered. 

§ 24.  The  Minimal  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration  of  Sen- 
sation. — (1)  It  is  a familiar  fact  that  in  every  department 
of  sensation  there  are  stimuli  which  are  too  weak  to  be 
sensed.  We  know  that  the  clock  of  the  church  tower  is 
ticking,  because  we  see  that  its  hands  move : but  the  noise 
of  the  ticking  is  too  faint  to  be  heard  from  the  ground. 
As  we  climb  the  stairs,  it  becomes  audible. 

What  we  have  to  do,  in  order  to  discover  the  point  at 
which  sensation  begins,  is  to  take  a stimulus  which  is  too 
weak  to  be  sensed,  and  gradually  increase  it  until  it  calls 
forth  a sensation. 

Method.  — Methods  of  determining  the  least  noticeable  inten- 
sity of  stimulus  follow  the  same  general  principle  in  all  sense 


§ 24.  Minimal  Intensity , Extent,  Duration  71 

departments.  It  will  only  be  necessary,  therefore,  to  give  two 
or  three  concrete  illustrations. 

To  find  the  least  noticeable  intensity  of  noise.  — Let  the  subject 
be  seated,  with  closed  eyes,  in  a large  room  which  has  no  echo. 
Hold  a watch  before  his  face,  and  gradually  remove  it  from  him  — 
taking  care  to  hold  it  always  directly  fronting  him,  and  to  keep 
it  at  the  right  height  above  the  floor  {i.e.,  on  a level  with  the  ear) 
— until  he  ceases  to  hear  its  ticking.  Measure  the  distance  from 
this  spot  to  the  centre  of  an  imaginary  line  joining  his  two  ears. 
The  distance  will  be  somewhat  too  short : the  sound  has  been 
growing  fainter  throughout  the  experiment,  and  he  has  therefore 
been  expecting  it  to  disappear.  He  has  not  been  altogether 
impartial  (§  10).  Now  start  again  from  a point  some  few  feet 
beyond  the  spot  at  which  sensation  ceased,  and  move  the  watch 
slowly  towards  the  subject,  till  he  can  hear  the  ticking.  This 
point  will  probably  lie  on  the  far  side  of  the  other,  as  he  knows 
that  the  ticking  will  soon  be  heard,  and  is  therefore  expecting  it. 
Measure  as  before.  Take  the  average  of  the  first  (too  short)  and 
second  (too  long)  distances.  The  least  noticeable  intensity  of 
noise  is  the  intensity  of  the  tick  of  the  watch  at  this  average 
distance. 

The  investigation  of  the  intensity  of  visual  sensations  is  pecul- 
iarly difficult.  For  ( a ) the  eye  is  never  wholly  at  rest,  as  the  ear 
or  the  skin  may  be.  When  we  close  our  eyes,  or  enter  a room 
from  which  light  is  shut  out,  we  still  see ; we  see  black,  and  black 
is  one  of  the  brightness  qualities.  This  ‘ intrinsic  ’ brightness 
sensation,  therefore,  is  always  mixed  with  the  brightness  of  the 
stimulus  which  we  employ  to  test  the  eye.  (1)  We  cannot  change 
the  intensity  of  a visual  sensation  without  at  the  same  time  chang- 
ing its  quality.  If  we  make  a grey  lighter,  it  becomes  a different 
grey,  i.e.,  another  sensation.  In  all  the  other  sense  departments 
it  is  possible  to  vary  intensity  independently  of  quality. 

All  that  we  can  do,  then,  is  to  enquire  what  amount  of  light  is 
necessary  to  give  a sensation  of  brightness  just  different  from 
(brighter  or  stronger  than)  the  ‘ intrinsic  ’ black  of  which  we  have 
spoken.  For  the  purpose  of  this  enquiry,  the  subject  is  placed 
in  a dark  chamber  ■;  and,  when  his  eyes  have  grown  thoroughly 


72  Intensity , Extent , Duration  of  Sensation 

accustomed  to  the  dark,  a metal  wire  is  heated  until  it  just  ‘ shim- 
mers.’ The  intensity  of  the  just  noticeable  shimmer  must  be 
measured  by  the  aid  of  a ‘ photometer,’  such  as  is  employed  in 
physical  laboratories. 

It  is  also  by  no  means  easy  to  ascertain  the  least  noticeable 
intensity  of  temperature  sensations.  The  skin  has  a natural 
warmth,  as  the  eye  has  an  intrinsic  black ; and  this  warmth  — 
which  differs  considerably  from  time  to  time  — is  added  to  or 
subtracted  from  the  temperature  of  the  stimulus,  according  as  it 
is  hot  or  cold.  The  part  of  the  skin  under  investigation  — say, 
the  hand  — must  be  kept  in  water  of  a neutral  temperature,  until 
the  cutaneous  organs  have  become  adapted  to  it.  The  hand  is 
then  plunged  into  water  which  is  slightly  warmer  or  colder  than 
this,  and  the  point  noted  at  which  an  increase  or  decrease  of 
temperature  is  sensed. 

(2)  A stimulus  may  be  too  small  to  be  sensed.  We 
know  that  there  is  a skylark  somewhere  above  us,  because 
we  saw  it  rise  from  the  grass,  and  can  still  hear  it  sing : 
but  it  is  too  small  to  be  seen.  There  is,  then,  a certain 
minimal  extent  of  visual  stimuli,  by  which  no  sensation  is 
aroused.  And  what  holds  of  sight,  holds  also  of  cutaneous 
and  articular  pressure. 

Method.  — To  find  the  least  noticeable  extent  of  brightness. — 
Two  white  threads  are  stretched  vertically  over  a grey  background, 
at  a convenient  distance  from  the  eye.  They  are  very  slowly  and 
gradually  brought  together,  until  they  seem  just  to  touch.  This 
will  happen  when  they  are  actually  separated  by  some  little  dis- 
tance. The  procedure  is  now  reversed : the  threads  are  gradu- 
ally separated,  until  they  seem  to  the  eye  to  be  just  apart.  The 
average  of  the  two  distances  between  them  (the  first  too  large, 
because  their  junction  was  expected  ; the  second  too  small,  be- 
cause their  disjunction  was  expected)  is  the  least  noticeable 
extent  of  grey,  in  the  horizontal  direction,  at  the  given  distance 
from  the  eye.  It  corresponds  to  a distance  of  about  .005  mm. 
between  the  images  of  the  two  threads  upon  each  retina. 


§ 24.  Minimal  Intensity,  Extent,  Duration  73 


(3)  A particular  sensation  — a sensation  of  bitter,  e.g.  — 
may  last  for  a few  moments  or  for  a considerable  length 
of  time,  its  quality  remaining  unchanged.  How  much 
time  must  a sensation  quality  be  allowed,  if  it  is  to  be  a 
full  and  adequate  sensation  ? 

Method.  — One  instance  of  the  way  in  which  this  question  is 
answered  may  again  suffice. 

To  find  the  least  noticeable  duration  of  pressure.  — For  this 
purpose  we  require  a small  toothed  wheel  of  hard  wood.  The 
arm  is  placed  comfortably  upon  a sloping  arm-rest,  in  such  a way 
that  the  tip  of  the  first  finger  can  be  laid  lightly  upon  the  teeth  of 
the  wheel.  When  the  wheel  turns  slowly,  we  have  a series  of  dis- 
tinct pressure  sensations,  one  from  each  tooth.  But  at  a certain 
rate  of  rotation,  we  lose  the  distinct  pressures,  and  have  a percep- 
tion of  roughness,  like  that  obtained  by  passing  the  finger  over 
velvet ; while  if  the  teeth  strike  at  a still  higher  velocity,  the  per- 
ception becomes  indistinguishable  from  that  of  a perfectly  smooth 
surface,  such  as  marble.  We  must  ascertain  the  highest  speed  at 
which  the  wheel  can  be  revolved,  and  still  give  a series  of  distinct 
pressures.  Dividing  the  time  of  revolution  by  the  number  of 
teeth,  we  get  the  minimal  duration  of  pressure  sensation  required. 

We  must  note  here  that  a sensation  does  not  come  to  an  end  at 
the  moment  when  its  stimulus  ceases  to  act.  If  we  look  at  a 
bright  light,  and  then  close  our  eyes,  we  see  on  the  black  back- 
ground a coloured  patch,  of  the  same  form  as  the  light.  It  may 
persist  for  several  minutes.  If  we  blow  out  a lighted  match,  and 
wave  it  round  while  the  burned  end  is  still  glowing,  we  see  a red 
circle  in  the  air ; the  red  sensation  at  any  point  upon  the  circle 
persists  until  the  match  has  returned  again  to  that  same  point. 
This  is  why  a disc  composed  of  black  and  white  sectors  looks 
grey  when  it  is  rotated  (§  12)  ; the  sensation  of  black  remains 
while  the  white  stimulus  is  given,  and  the  sensation  of  white  per- 
sists while  the  black  sector  is  stimulating  the  eye. 

The  after-sensations,  or  after-images,  as  they  are  called,  are  of 
very  different  duration  in  the  different  sense  departments.  Thus, 


74  Intensity,  Extent,  Duration  of  Sensation 

the  total  duration  of  a loud  sound  or  heavy  pressure  is  consider- 
ably less  than  that  of  even  a moderately  strong  visual  or  temper- 
ature sensation. 

We  cannot  say  in  definite  terms  what  is  the  minimal  in- 
tensity, duration  or  extent  of  a particular  sensation  quality. 
The  chief  reasons  for  this  are  the  following,  (i)  Al- 
though one  man  may  be  able  to  distinguish  as  many  qual- 
ities of  noise  as  another,  it  does  not  follow  that  he  can 
hear  equally  faint  sounds.  That  is  to  say,  the  stimulus 
which  arouses  sensation  in  one  case  may  prove  to  be  too 
weak  in  another,  even  if  the  two  sense-organs  are  per- 
fectly normal.  (2)  A stimulus  which  is  effective  at  one 
part  of  the  sense-organ  may  be  inefficient  to  call  forth 
sensation  at  another.  A weight  which  excites  the  sen- 
sation of  pressure  upon  the  finger-tips  is  not  noticed 
when  laid  on  the  back  of  the  hand  (intensity);  and 
threads  which  seem  just  separate  when  directly  looked 
at  appear  to  be  a single  thread  if  observed  indirectly, 
from  the  side  of  the  retina  (extent).  (3)  The  just  notice- 
able intensity  of  stimulus  depends  upon  its  own  extent 
and  duration.  A light  which  is  too  faint  to  be  seen  at 
once  may  produce  a sensation  if  it  continue  for  some  time 
together ; and  a faint  speck  of  light  may  be  invisible, 
though  an  extended  light  of  the  same  intensity  would  be 
easily  seen. 

No  general  table  of  minimal  values  can  be  made  out, 
therefore.  They  must  be  determined  afresh  in  every 
series  of  experiments  for  which  a knowledge  of  them  is 
required. 

§ 25.  The  Maximal  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration  of  Sen- 
sation.— (1)  The  maximal  intensity  of  sensation  is  that 
intensity  which  cannot  be  increased  by  any  further  in- 


§ 25-  Maximal  Intensity , Extent,  Duration  75 

crease  of  stimulus.  It  seems  probable  that  the  greatest 
intensity  which  a sensation  quality  can  attain  is  its  inten- 
sity at  the  moment  before  pain  or  nausea  appears.  For 
though  the  quality  of  pain  or  nausea  does  not  wholly  de- 
stroy the  original  qualities  of  pressure,  salt,  etc.,  it  so 
obscures  them  that  we  do  not  know  whether  they  undergo 
change  with  further  increase  of  stimulus  or  not.  For  all 
practical  purposes,  then,  sensation  intensity  does  not  in- 
crease beyond  the  point  at  which  a stimulus  becomes 
painful  or  nauseating. 

Method.  — To  determine  the  maximal  intensity  of  sweet,  e.g.,  we 
must  increase  the  intensity  of  a sweet  stimulus  by  slow  degrees 
until  we  reach  the  point  at  which  the  sweetness  is  ‘ sickly  ’ and 
* disgusting.’  The  amount  of  sweet  stimulus  which  is  just  not 
sickly  is  the  equivalent  of  the  maximal  sweet  sensation. 

There  are  two  reasons  why  we  cannot  ascertain  the  maximum 
of  sensation  intensity  with  any  great  accuracy.  (1)  The  sense- 
organ  may  be  so  much  fatigued  by  a succession  of  very  strong 
stimuli  that  it  refuses  to  act  at  all.  The  ear  may  be  ‘ deadened,’ 
smell  may  be  ‘ blunted,’  before  the  really  maximal  intensity  of 
stimulation  has  been  reached.  (2)  We  can  work  only  in  one 
direction,  up  towards  the  stimulus  which  produces  a maximal 
sensation.  If  we  began  to  experiment  with  a stronger  stimulus, 
we  might  injure  the  organ.  Now  we  have  seen  that  when  experi- 
ments are  all  made  in  one  definite  direction,  the  subject  is  not 
impartial ; he  expects  or  anticipates  the  result  of  the  experimental 
series.  Pain  or  nausea  will  occur,  therefore,  earlier  than  it  should  ; 
and  the  maximal  intensity  obtained  will,  in  every  case,  be  too 
small.  Could  we  reverse  our  procedure,  and  come  down  to  the 
maximal  stimulus,  we  should  be  able  to  correct  the  error  of 
expectation  by  averaging. 

(2)  The  maximal  extent  of  a visual  quality  is  produced 
by  a stimulus  which  completely  fills  the  field  of  vision. 
The  maximal  extent  of  cutaneous  or  articular  pressure  is 


76 


Intensity , Extent , Duration  of  Sensation 


produced  by  a stimulus  which  affects  the  entire  surface 
of  the  skin,  or  the  whole  extent  of  the  articular  surfaces 
from  which  the  sensation  proceeds. 

Method.  — If  we  immerse  the  body  in  water  of  a neutral 
temperature,  we  obtain  a maximally  extended  sensation  of  cuta- 
neous pressure,  without  complication  by  temperature  sensations. 
A maximally  extended  black  is  obtained  when  we  look  straight 
before  us  in  a dark  chamber ; a maximally  extended  blue,  when 
we  look  directly  at  the  sky  under  such  conditions  that  there  is 
nothing  to  ‘break  the  view,’ — e.g.,  as  we  lie  on  our  back  on  a 
hill-top.  . 

(3)  The  maximal  duration  of  the  various  sensations 
has  not  been  investigated.  Many  qualities,  if  long  con- 
tinued, pass  over  into  pain  ; e.g.,  shrill  tones.  Others,  it 
would  seem,  might  be  prolonged  indefinitely ; e.g.,  black, 
a moderate  warmth. 

§ 26.  The  Relation  of  Intensity,  Extent  and  Duration 
to  Quality  of  Sensation.  — The  foregoing  Sections  have 
brought  out  several  differences  between  quality  and  the 
other  attributes  of  sensation.  One  difference,  a differ- 
ence in  the  importance  of  the  attributes  to  sensation  as 
an  elementary  conscious  process,  we  have  emphasised 
previously  by  saying  that  intensity,  duration  and  extent 
are  always  the  intensity,  duration  and  extent  of  some 
quality  (§  8).  Quality  is  the  most  important  attribute. 
The  further  distinctions  which  we  are  now  able  to  draw 
are  four  in  number.  (1)  Knowledge  of  the  number  of 
qualities  helps  us  in  our  analysis  of  consciousness ; know- 
ledge of  the  number  of  intensities,  etc.,  does  not.  (2) 
Knowledge  of  the  number  of  qualities  helps  us  to  ascer- 
tain the  bodily  conditions  of  sensation ; knowledge  of  the 

dumber  of  intensities,  etc.,  does  not.  (3)  Quality  is  ab- 

f 


§ 26.  Their  Relation  to  Quality  of  Sensation  77 

solute ; the  other  sensation  attributes  are  only  relative  or 
comparative.  (4)  Quality  is  individual ; the  other  three 
attributes  are  common  or  general. 

(1)  Two  sensations  which  differ  in  quality  are  two  different  sen- 
sations. But  a sensation  may  differ  widely  in  intensity,1  extent  or 
duration,  and  yet  remain  the  same  sensation.  Since  the  first  task 
of  the  psychologist  is  to  analyse  consciousness  into  its  elements, 
he  is  obliged  to  count  up  the  total  number  of  sensation  qualities. 
Ignorance  of  any  one  of  them  would  mean  that  his  analysis  was 
incomplete,  and  his  final  account  of  mind  so  far  wrong.  But  he 
is  in  no  way  assisted  by  a list  of  the  possible  intensities,  etc. 
These  are  not  new  conscious  elements,  but  only  degrees  or 
amounts  of  elements  already  known.  (2)  We  laid  it  down  in 
our  definition  of  sensation  that  the  mental  process  is  always  con- 
nected with  a bodily  process  in  a definite  bodily  organ.  It  fol- 
lows that  every  sensation  quality  is  connected  with  a different 
kind  of  bodily  process.  Hence  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  know  the 
number  of  sensation  qualities,  if  we  are  to  give  a complete  descrip- 
tion of  the  bodily  processes  connected  with  sensations.  Our  view 
of  the  way  in  which  the  ear  works,  e.g.,  depends  upon  the  number 
of  sensations  obtainable  from  it.  There  is  no  similar  reason  for 
knowing  the  number  of  sensation  intensities,  etc. ; for  it  is  clear 
that  one  and  the  same  kind  of  bodily  process  may  last  for  a longer 
or  shorter  time  (duration  of  sensation),  be  more  or  less  widely 
diffused  within  the  bodily  organ  (extent  of  sensation),  and  be  more 
or  less  well-marked  (intensity  of  sensation)  in  different  instances. 
(3)  There  is  nothing  absolute  about  an  intensity,  etc.,  as  there  is 
about  a quality ; we  estimate  intensity  always  by  comparison  with 
other  intensities.  Our  use  of  terms  indicates  this.  ‘ Blue  ’ means 
something  fixed  and  absolute  ; but  ‘ large  ’ is  altogether  relative 
or  comparative  : a ‘ large  ’ beetle,  a ‘ large  ’ table,  and  a £ large  ’ 
village  refer  to  objects  of  very  different  absolute  sizes.  If  we  had 
our  full  list,  therefore,  we  could  do  nothing  with  it ; its  terms 
would  lose  all  definite  meaning  as  soon  as  they  were  taken  out 


1 With  the  single  exception  of  visual  sensations:  cf.  §§  12,  24. 


y8  Intensity,  Extent,  Duration  of  Sensation 

of  the  list,  i.e.,  as  soon  as  it  became  impossible  to  compare  them 
with  the  other  terms.  (4)  No  two  elementary  processes  have 
the  same  quality.  They  may  have  the  same  intensity,  extent 
and  duration ; for  intensity  and  duration  are  universal  attributes, 
common  to  all  sensation  processes  alike,  while  extent  is  common, 
e.g.,  to  all  sensations  from  the  eye.  Not  only,  then,  is  quality 
absolute,  and  intensity,  etc.,  relative ; quality  is  an  individual  at- 
tribute, while  intensity,  etc.,  are  common  characteristics  of  differ- 
ent elements. 

Now  an  individual  fact  requires  individual  explanation : we 
found  it  necessary  to  give  one  account  of  the  action  of  light  on 
the  eye,  another  of  the  action  of  sound  on  the  ear,  etc.  But 
a common  or  universal  aspect  of  all  sensations  should  receive 
a general  explanation.  May  we  not  be  able,  then,  instead  of 
dealing  with  each  organ  separately,  to  give  a single  account  of 
what  goes  on  in  all  the  bodily  organs  when  a sensation  changes 
in  intensity,  etc.  ? 

This  is  the  question  which  was  referred  to  in  § 23  as  growing 
out  of  the  discussion  of  the  first  two  questions  propounded  in 
the  present  chapter.  The  third  question  there  raised,  and  judged 
unanswerable,  we  have  found  to  be  not  worth  answering.  The 
new  question,  on  the  other  hand,  is  one  of  the  most  important  in 
the  whole  sphere  of  sensation  psychology.  Very  many  experi- 
ments have  been  made  upon  our  estimation  of  intensities  (Weber’s 
law),  extents  (eye  measurement)  and  durations  (time  sense)  : we 
must  briefly  review  these  before  we  can  answer  it. 

§ 27.  Weber’s  Law.  — We  have  seen  that  some  stimuli 
are  too  weak  to  produce  a sensation.  Every  one  must 
have  noticed  the  further  fact  that  a stimulus  may  be  of 
considerable  intensity,  and  yet  not  strong  enough  to  add 
to  the  intensity  of  a sensation  already  existing.  If  a 
candle  is  lighted  in  the  room  in  which  we  are  sitting  on  a 
dull  winter’s  afternoon,  the  room  becomes  quite  noticeably 
brighter ; but  if  the  same  candle  is  lighted  in  the  same 
room  on  a sunny  morning,  it  makes  no  appreciable  dif- 


§ 27.  Weber's  Law 


79 


ference  in  the  general  illumination.  If  we  dissolve  an 
extra  spoonful  of  sugar  in  a cup  of  coffee,  we  make  it  very 
perceptibly  sweeter ; but  if  we  stir  the  same  amount  of 
sugar  into  a cup  of  honey,  we  do  not  find  that  there  is  any 
difference  in  the  taste.  Let  us  see  what  follows  from  this 
fact  in  a particular  series  of  experiments. 

Suppose  that  we  are  investigating  the  intensity  of  noise. 
We  shall  begin  with  a stimulus  of  moderate  intensity : 
say,  the  noise  made  by  the  fall  of  an  ivory  ball  upon  a 
wood  plate  from  a height  of  90  cm.  We  will  call  the 
intensity  of  this  sensation  1.  If  we  gradually  increase  the 
height  of  fall,  we  shall  reach  a point  at  which  the  noise 
of  the  fall  is  just  noticeably  greater  than  the  original 
noise.  We  may  call  the  intensity  of  this  second  sensa- 
tion 2.  If  we  further  increase  the  height  of  fall,  we  shall 
presently  get  a noise,  3,  which  is  just  noticeably  louder 
than  2 ; and  so  on.  Now  what  are  the  different  heights 
of  fall  — i.e.,  intensities  of  stimulus  — necessary  to  arouse 
sensations  of  the  intensities  2,  3,  4,  etc.  ? The  stimulus 
required  for  a sensation  of  the  intensity  1 was  a fall  of 
90  cm.  That  required  for  intensity  2 was  a fall,  let  us  say, 
of  120  cm. ; we  were  obliged  to  add  30  cm.  to  the  original 
90  cm.  Will  the  stimulus  required  for  the  sensation  in- 
tensity 3 be  a fall  of  150  (120  + 30)  cm. ; that  for  intensity 
4,  a fall  of  180  (150  + 30)  cm.,  and  so  on  ? 

However  natural  it  may  seem  to  reply  to  this  question 
in  the  affirmative,  the  facts  stated  just  now  show  that  the 
answer  would  be  incorrect.  Dull  daylight  + candle-light 
gives  a stronger  sensation  than  dull  daylight ; but  bright 
sunlight  + candle-light  is  not  stronger  than  bright  sunlight. 
On  the  same  principle,  a fall  of  90  + 30  cm.  gives  a louder 
sound  than  a fall,  of  90  cm. ; but  a fall  of  120  + 30  need 


8o 


Intensity , Extent,  Duration  of  Sensation 


not  give  a more  intensive  sensation  than  a fall  of  120. 
The  stronger  the  stimulus  already  is,  the  greater  must  be 
the  addition  made  to  it  if  the  sensation  which  it  arouses  is 
to  increase  in  intensity.  An  addition  of  30  cm.  suffices  to 
raise  the  intensity  of  sensation  from  1 to  2 ; but  if  we  are 
affected  by  the  stronger  stimulus  120  cm.,  we  must  add 
more  than  30  to  it  to  change  intensity  2 to  intensity  3. 
In  other  words  : change  in  the  intensity  of  sensations  does 
not  keep  even  pace  with  change  in  the  intensity  of  the 
stimuli  which  occasion  them. 

Experiment  enables  us  to  replace  this,  general  state- 
ment of  the  relation  of  sensation  intensity  to  stimulus 
intensity  by  a definite  scientific  law.  If  sensations  Are  to 
increase  in  intensity  by  equal  amounts,  their  stimuli  must 
increase  by  relatively  equal  amounts.  If  the  increase  of 
90  cm.  to  120  {i.e.,  increase  by  raises  the  intensity 
of  sound  from  1 to  2,  then  120  must  be  increased  by  \ of 
itself,  i.e.,  by  40  cm.,  if  the  sensation  intensity  is  to  rise 
from  2 to  3 ; and  160  must  again  be  increased  by  ^ of 
itself,  i.e.,  by  53  cm.,  if  the  intensity  of  noise  is  to  rise  from 
3 to  4.  In  the  same  way,  a stimulus  of  30  cm.  must  in- 
crease to  40,  and  a stimulus  of  60  cm.  to  80,  if  we  are  to 
obtain  equal  differences  in  the  intensity  of  the  sensations 
corresponding  to  them.  This  law  — that  equal  differences 
in  the  intensity  of  sensation  are  produced  by  relatively 
equal  differences  in  the  intensity  of  stimulus  — is  known 
as  Weber’s  law.1  It  has  been  found  to  hold  good  for 

1 Ernst  Heinrich  Weber  (b.  1795,  d.  1878)  held  successively  the  chairs  of 
comparative  anatomy,  human  anatomy  and  physiology  in  the  University  of 
Leipsic  (from  1 8 1 8 until  his  death).  The  first  statement  of  his  law  is  to  be 
found  in  a paper  De  tactu  (“  Upon  Touch”),  published  in  1834.  It  runs  as 
follows : In  observando  discrimine  rerum  inter  se  comparatarum  non  differ- 
entiam  rerum,  sed  rationem  differentia  ad  magnitudinem  rerum  inter  se 


§27.  Weber  s Law 


81 


stimuli  and  sensations  of  widely  different  intensities  in 
several  sense  departments,  — indeed,  in  all  those  which 
have  been  thoroughly  investigated.  It  is  of  especial  im- 
portance as  the  first  law,  in  the  scientific  meaning  of  the 
word,  discovered  by  psychology. 

The  numerical  expression  of  the  law  (/.<?.,  the  exact  ratio  in 
which  stimuli  must  increase  to  produce  equal  differences  of  sensa- 
tion intensity)  is  different  in  the  different  sense  departments. 
(1)  Weights  laid  upon  the  finger-tips  must  increase  by  one- 
twentieth  to  produce  a noticeable  difference  in  the  intensity  of 
pressure ; (2)  noise  stimuli  must  increase,  as  in  our  illustration,  by 
one-third ; (3)  brightness  stimuli  by  one-hundredth ; (4)  strain 
stimuli  — lifted  weights  — by  one-fortieth.  There  are  indications 
that  (5)  intensities  of  tone  and  (6)  of  taste  (salt  and  bitter)  obey 
Weber’s  law,  but  no  exact  statement  can  be  made  with  regard 
to  them.  Whether  the  law  holds  for  the  temperature  sense  is  an 
open  question.  No  investigation  has  been  made  of  smell,  or  of 
any  organic  sensation  other  than  strain. 

The  law  may  be  phrased  mathematically  as  follows  : If  sensation 
intensities  are  to  increase  in  arithmetical  progression,  stimulus 
intensities  must  increase  in  geometrical ; or,  more  shortly  : Sensa- 
tion increases  as  the  logarithm  of  stimulus. 

Method.  — To  find  the  numerical  expression  of  Weber’s  law 
for  noise.  — An  ivory  ball  is  let  fall,  from  two  different  heights, 
upon  a hard-wood  plate.  The  difference  of  intensity  between  the 
two  sounds  (/.<?.,  the  difference  between  the  two  heights  of  fall) 
must  be  slight.  The  two  sounds  are  given  in  irregular  order  in 
different  experiments  (to  avoid  the  influence  of  expectation),  and 
the  subject  is  required  to  say,  in  each  case,  whether  the  second 
is  louder  or  weaker  than  the  first.  In  100  experiments,  he  will 
give  a certain  number  of  right  answers,  and  a certain  number  of 
wrong. 

comparatamm  percipimus.  (“  In  observing  the  difference  between  com- 
pared objects,  we  perceive  not  the  [absolute]  difference  between  the  objects, 
but  the  proportion  which  the  difference  bears  to  their  magnitude.  ”) 

G 


82  Intensity,  Extent,  Duration  of  Sensation 

The  method  assumes  that  if  the  two  sounds  are  just  noticeably 
different  in  intensity,  the  subject  will  give  about  80 °J0  right  and 
20 °]o  wrong  answers.  This  proportion  is  calculated  by  what 
mathematicians  call  the  ‘ law  of  probability.’  Now  suppose  that 
a certain  difference  gave  70  right  and  30  wrong  answers  in  100 
experiments.  We  could  calculate,  by  aid  of  the  integral  calculus, 
how  much  larger  the  difference  must  have  been  to  give  80  right 
and  20  wrong,  — i.e.,  to  be  just  noticeable.  The  calculated  dif- 
ference (difference  of  height  of  fall)  is  the  numerator,  and  the 
original  intensity  (original  height  of  fall)  of  the  weaker  sound,  the 
denominator,  of  the  fraction  which  expresses  Weber’s  law. 

§ 28.  Eye  Measurement.  — We  have  found  a general  law 
governing  the  relation  of  sensation  intensity  to  stimulus. 
Is  there  any  similar  law  governing  the  relations  of  stimu- 
lus and  sensation  extent?  Nothing  can  be  said  by  way  of 
answer  to  this  question  in  the  sphere  of  pressure  (whether 
cutaneous  or  articular).  A large  number  of  experiments 
have  been  made,  however,  upon  what  is  termed  ‘ eye 
measurement  ’ ; that  is,  upon  the  accuracy  of  our  estima- 
tion of  visual  extents  (lines). 

If  a horizontal  line,  of  moderate  length,  is  bisected,  and 
one  of  the  halves  gradually  lengthened,  the  eye  will  find  a 
difference  between  the  two  parts  when  the  larger  becomes 
one-fiftieth  longer  than  the  smaller.  This  rule  holds  good 
for  stimuli  of  widely  different  absolute  extent  (lines  of 
widely  different  length). 

Extent  is  one  of  the  necessary  attributes  of  visual  sensations ; 
whenever  we  see,  we  see  something  extended.  But  it  does  not 
follow  from  this  that  extents  are  compared  or  estimated  as  ex- 
tents, i.e.,  that  we  can  make  a direct  judgment  of  the  relative 
lengths  of  two  lines,  without  calling  in  the  aid  of  other  attributes 
of  sensation.  The  rule  given  above  — that  equal  additions  to  the 
extent  of  sensation  mean  relatively  equal  additions  to  the  extent 


§ 2 8.  Eye  Measurement 


83 


of  stimulus  — cannot  but  suggest  Weber’s  law,  the  general  formu- 
lation of  which  is  precisely  the  same.  The  rule  suggests,  that  is, 
that  we  compare 


a 


Fig.  5.  — Illustration  of  Weber’s  Law  in  the  sphere  of 
eye-measurement.  The  length  of  b stands  midway, 
for  sensation,  between  the  lengths  of  a and  c.  If  the 
lines  are  measured  it  will  be  found  that  a : b=b : c. 


or  estimate  ex- 
tent of  sensation 
by  the  help  of 
the  intensity  of 
some  attendant 
sensation. 

There  is  good 

reason  for  thinking  that  our  estimation  of  visual  extent  is  originally 
made  by  the  help  of  the  intensity  of  strain  sensations.  Each  eye 
is  slung  in  its  socket  upon  six  separate  muscles.  When  we  com- 
pare two  lines,  the  natural  thing  to  do  is  to  ‘ run  the  eyes  along  ’ 
them ; and  this  movement  of  the  eyes  calls  forth  sensations  of 
muscular  contraction  and  of  tendinous  strain.  A longer  line  occa- 
sions a more  severe  (stronger)  strain,  and  a shorter  line  a less 
severe  strain.  We  estimate  extent  in  terms  of  intensity. 

The  numerical  expression  of  Weber’s  law  for  strain  intensities 
in  experiments  with  lifted  weights  is  one-fortieth.  It  is  only  to 
be  expected  that  the  fraction  should  be  somewhat  less  in  the 
case  of  the  eye.  The  eye  is  constantly  engaged  with  extents 
and  their  estimation,  whereas  the  hand  and  arm  are  not  so 
highly  practised  in  the  comparison  of  lifted  weight's.  And  the 
eyeball,  with  its  six  muscles  and  the  tendons  attaching  to  them, 
is  set  by  itself  in  a bony  socket,  out  of  the  reach  of  disturbance 
from  the  rest  of  the  body ; whereas  the  muscles  and  tendons  of 
hand  and  arm  interact  in  a much  more  complex  way,  and  are 
liable  to  disturbance  from  shoulder,  back,  etc.,  — indeed,  from  all 
the  muscles  and  tendons  employed  to  maintain  a particular  bodily 
attitude. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  our  judgment  of  the  ex- 
tents of  two  lines  in  a particular  experiment  is  necessarily  based 
upon  the  intensities  of  strain  sensations  coming  from  the  tendons 
of  the  eye  muscles.  The  further  we  advance  into  psychology,  the 
more  clearly  shall  we  see  that  the  mind  can  travel  by  many  roads 
to  the  same  result.  ’ We  may  ‘ remember  ’ an  event  in  half-a- 


84  Intensity,  Extent,  Duration  of  Sensation 

dozen  different  ways ; we  may  ‘ compare  ’ visual  extents  by 
half-a-dozen  different  methods.  The  natural  and  original  way  to 
compare  them  is,  in  all  probability,  by  aid  of  the  intensity  of  attend- 
ant strain  sensations ; if  we  take  this  way,  Weber’s  law  will,  of 
course,  be  found  to  govern  our  judgment. 

Method.  — Three  white  threads  are  stretched  vertically  gver  a 
grey  background.  The  distance  1-2  is  objectively  equal  to  the 
distance  2-3.  The  former  distance  remains  constant  throughout 
the  experiment.  Thread  3 is  now  gradually  moved  outwards,  till 
2-3  seems  just  longer  than  1-2.  Owing  to  the  error  of  expecta- 
tion (§  24),  the  judgment  ‘longer’  will  come  too  soon,  i.e.,  the 
estimation  will  be  more  accurate  than  the  observer’s  average  esti- 
mation. Thread  3 is  then  set  further  outwards,  and  from  that 
point  moved  slowly  inwards,  until  the  two  distances  are  apparently 
equal  again.  The  judgment  of  equality  comes  too  soon,  i.e.,  is 
less  accurate  than  the  observer’s  average  judgment.  The  exper- 
iment is  now  repeated  in  the  reverse  direction.  We  start  out 
from  objective  equality  of  1-2  and  2-3,  and  move  3 inwards,  until 
2-3  is  just  perceptibly  shorter  than  1-2.  The  judgment  is  too 
accurate.  Then,  beginning  from  a point  further  inwards,  we  move 
3 out,  until  2-3  is  apparently  equal  to  1-2.  The  judgment  is  too 
inaccurate.  — The  whole  procedure  is  now  repeated,  except  that 
the  distance  2-3  is  kept  constant  throughout  the  experiments, 
while  the  distance  1-2  is  varied. 

The  eight  judgments  thus  obtained  are  averaged  : and  the  dif- 
ference between  the  constant  distance  and  this  average  gives  us  a 
measure  of  the  subject’s  accuracy  in  the  discrimination  of  hori- 
zontal extents. 

§ 29.  The  Time  Sense. — The  question  of  this  Section  is 
similiar  to  those  of  the  two  preceding  : Is  there  any  gen- 
eral law  governing  the  relation  of  stimulus  to  sensation 
duration  ? or,  as  it  has  more  often  been  phrased  : Is  there 
any  general  law  governing  our  estimation  of  time  intervals  ? 
A time  interval  is  never  an  ‘empty  ’ time  ; if  it  is  conscious, 
it  is  always  the  duration  of  something,  some  conscious 


§ 29.  The  Time  Sense  85 

process  or  processes.  Psychologically  regarded,  * inter- 
val ’ and  ‘ duration  ’ are  convertible  terms. 

Experiments  upon  the  estimation  of  intervals  (durations) 
are  grouped  together  under  the  heading  of  the  ‘ time 
sense.’  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  expression  is 
merely  figurative.  We  have  no  special  sense  of  time,  any 
more  than  we  have  an  intensity  sense  or  an  extent  sense. 
All  sensations  have  duration,  but  we  have  no  sensation  of 
duration. 

It  has  been  found  by  experiment  that  judgments  of  the 
relative  length  of  intervals  (durations)  are  of  three  distinct 
kinds,  according  as  the  intervals  themselves  are  shorter 
than  half-a-second,  longer  than  three  seconds,  or  lie  be- 
tween these  time  limits. 

(1)  Our  estimation  of  time  intervals  of  less  than  half-a- 
second’s  duration  is  very  accurate.  We  cannot  as  yet  say 
with  any  degree  of  certainty  upon  what  psychological 
grounds  the  judgment  that  one  such  interval  is  longer  or 
shorter  than  another  is  based.  But  it  is  never  a direct 
judgment  of  duration,  i. e. , a judgment  based  upon  the 
estimation  of  two  conscious  durations.  Hence  we  need 
not  consider  it  here. 

All  that  we  know  at  present  of  these  judgments  (beyond  the 
fact  that  they  are  not  judgments  of  duration)  is  that  they  vary 
with  the  sense  department  from  which  the  stimuli  which  limit  the 
intervals  are  taken,  with  the  rhythm  and  accent  of  these  stimuli, 
and  with  the  direction  of  the  attention  to  one  stimulus  or  another. 

(1)  If  two  equal  intervals  — say,  of  a quarter  of  a second’s 
duration  — are  given,  the  one  bounded  by  visual  and  the  other  by 
cutaneous  (pressure)  stimuli,  the  latter  appears  to  be  considerably 
the  shorter  of  the  two.  This  is  because  the  visual  after-sensation 
(§  24)  lasts  longer  than  the  cutaneous,  and  the  ‘ visual  ’ interval  is 
thus  extended  in  a way  in  which  the  cutaneous  interval  is  not. 


86  Intensity , Extent,  Duration  of  Sensation 

(2)  When  we  listen  to  a rapid  series  of  taps  or  clicks,  we  find 
ourselves  ‘ forced,’  as  it  were,  to  accent  some  more  strongly  than 
others ; the  sounds  ‘ fall  ’ into  a rhythm.  Suppose  that  we  have 
three  taps,  i.e.,  two  intervals.  If  we  accent  the  first,  — 1 ' 2 3,  — the 
first  interval  is  judged  to  be  the  longer ; if  we  accent  the  second, 
— 12'  3,  — the  second;  if  the  third,  — x 2 3',  — the  first  again. 
The  effect  of  accent  is  to  lengthen  the  following  and  shorten  the  pre- 
ceding interval.  If  the  series  really  increases  in  loudness,  the  inter- 
vals seem  to  grow  shorter;  if  it  decreases,  they  grow  longer.  (3)  A 
chance  direction  of  the  attention  has  the  same  effect  as  accentuation 
or  real  change  of  intensity  of  the  limiting  stimuli.  Thus  it  may 
reverse  the  judgment  instanced  under  (1).  There  is  here  no 
direct  comparison  of  durations  ; our  judgment  of  duration  depends 
entirely  upon  the  power  of  the  limiting  stimuli  to  hold  the  atten- 
tion. — The  phenomena  of  accent  can  be  observed  in  the  ticking 
of  a watch  (four  or  five  ticks  to  the  one  second)  held  to  the  ear. 

(2)  Estimation  of  intervals  longer  than  three  seconds  is 
an  estimation  of  duration,  but  not  a direct  estimation.  Our 
judgment  that  one  interval  is  longer  than  another  is  based 
principally  upon  the  difference  in  the  number  of  mental 
processes  which  ran  their  course  within  the  two  total  dura- 
tions. The  more  processes  introspection  shows  to  have 
occurred  in  an  interval,  the  longer  is  that  interval  judged 
to  be.  These  intervals,  also,  may  be  passed  over  here. 

(3)  Durations  which  lie  between  the  limits  of  half-a- 
second  and  three  seconds  are  estimated  as  durations.  For 
their  estimation  the  law  holds  that  equal  differences  of 
conscious  duration  are  produced  by  relatively  equal  differ- 
ences of  stimulus  duration.  That  is,  if  time  a is  to  seem 
as  much  longer  than  time  b as  time  c seems  longer  than 
time  cl,  the  proportion  must  hold  that  a — b:b::c—d:d. 

We  are  again  reminded  of  Weber’s  law.  And  indeed,  just  as 
estimation  of  visual  extents  is  based  upon  intensities  of  strain  sen- 


§§  29,  3°-  Time  Sense  a?id  Meaning  of  Weber  s Laiu  87 

sation  (the  sensations  proceeding  from  the  tendons  of  the  eye 
muscles),  and  thus  follows  Weber’s  law,  so  apparently  is  the 
estimation  of  these  time-intervals  based  upon  intensities  of  strain 
sensation,  — and  the  law  formulated  is  not  really  a duration  law, 
but  Weber’s  law  itself.  When  we  try  to  discover  by  introspection 
what  means  we  have  used  for  our  comparison  of  two  durations  of 
this  third  kind,  we  find  that  strain  intensities  have  played  a great 
part  in  the  formation  of  the  judgment.  The  strain  sensations 
come  (1)  from  the  expectant  attitude  of  the  whole  body,  and 
(2)  from  the  adjustment  of  the  sense-organ  to  the  stimuli  which 
limit  the  intervals  to  be  compared.  We  estimate  duration  in 
terms  of  intensity  : the  more  intensive  the  strain,  the  longer  must 
the  interval  have  been ; the  less  the  strain,  the  shorter  the  time. 

Again,  however,  the  natural  and  original  way  (§  28)  need  not 
necessarily  be  followed ; and  hence  the  results  of  experiments 
upon  the  estimation  of  these  ‘ moderate  ’ intervals  do  not  always 
agree.  Much  work  remains  to  be  done,  before  the  psychological 
facts  upon  which  the  different  time  judgments  are  based  can  be 
completely  described. 

Method.  — An  electric  hammer  is  connected  with  an  electric 
clock  in  such  a way  that  it  gives  three  sharp  taps  upon  its  base 
at  the  required  intervals.  The  subject  has  to  compare  the  lengths 
of  the  two  intervals,  just  as  he  would  compare  two  intensities  or 
extents.  We  may  employ  the  method  of  gradual  change  (§  28), 
increasing  and  decreasing  one  interval  until  a difference  between 
the  two  is  remarked,  or  the  method  of  right  and  wrong  cases 
(§  27),  working  with  constant  intervals  which  are  very  little  dif- 
ferent. 

Or  we  may  allow  the  hammer  to  give  two  strokes  — one  dura- 
tion— only,  and  require  the  subject  to  arrest  the  electric  clock  (by 
pressing  a key)  as  soon  as  a time  has  elapsed  which  he  judges  to 
be  equal  to  the  given  time.  The  errors  which  he  makes  in  a series 
of  experiments  furnish  a measure  of  the  accuracy  of  his  estimation 
of  duration. 


§ 30.  The  Meaning  of  Weber’s  Law.  — We  can  now  pro- 
ceed to  answer  the  question  of  § 25  : What  goes  on  in  the 


88  Intensity,  Extent,  Duration  of  Sensation 

bodily  organs  when  a sensation  changes  in  intensity  ? The 
psychological  facts  embraced  under  Weber’s  law  must  be 
brought  into  connection  with  what  physiology  tells  us  of 
the  effect  produced  upon  nervous  substance  by  stimuli  of 
different  intensities. 

(1)  We  know  that  nervous  substance  resists  the  incom- 
ing of  stimulation.  The  resistance  which  it  offers  can 
be  overcome  only  by  stimuli  of  a certain  strength.  This 
physiological  knowledge  enables  us  to  understand  why 
very  weak  stimuli  are  not  sensed  at  all : they  are  too  weak 
to  overcome  the  resistance  which  they  encounter  in  the 
nervous  centres. 

(2)  Weak  stimulation  makes  the  nervous  substance 
more  excitable;  strong  stimulation  leaves  it  less  excitable. 
Hence  Weber’s  law  does  not  hold  for  stimuli  which  ap- 
proach to  minimal  or  maximal  values.  As  the  law  holds 
over  a wide  range  of  stimuli,  i.e.,  for  all  those  of  ‘ moder- 
ate ’ strength,  we  must  suppose  that  moderate  stimulation 
does  not  change  the  excitability  of  nervous  substance. 

(3)  The  fact  that  moderate  stimulation  does  not  alter 
nervous  excitability,  taken  together  with  the  fact  that  ner- 
vous substance  resists  the  incoming  of  stimuli,  accounts  for 
the  general  rule  that  change  in  sensation  intensity  does 
not  come  with  every  change  in  the  intensity  of  stimulus. 
It  might  be  thought  that,  when  once  an  excitation  had 
been  set  up,  the  resistance  of  nervous  substance  had  been 
once  for  all  overcome,  and  that  we  ought,  consequently,  to 
sense  any  addition  made  to  the  strength  of  stimulus.  But 
the  moderately  excited  nervous  substance  offers  as  much 
resistance  as  the  unexcited  to  the  incoming  stimulus ; and 
a small  addition  to  the  strength  of  the  latter  is,  therefore, 
not  sensed. 


§ 30-  The  Meaning  of  Webcr> s Law  8g 

(4)  Physiology  asserts  that  a stimulus  which  affects  a 
particular  sense-organ  not  only  produces  an  excitation 
within  that  organ,  but  is  more  or  less  widely  diffused  over 
the  whole  body.  Thus  a light-stimulus  not  only  sets  up 
an  excitation  within  the  retina,  but  also  has  an  effect  upon 
circulation,  respiration,  etc.  Some  part  of  the  energy  of 
every  stimulus,  then,  is  lost  for  sensation. 

Weber’s  law  shows  that  the  part  which  is  lost  (and  con- 
sequently the  part  which  is  used)  always  bears  the  same 
relation  to  the  total  stimulus.  A light  of  100  candle-power 
is  just  different  from  a light  of  101  ; a light  of  200  from  a 
light  of  202.  Just  the  same  proportion  of  light  is  lost 
(and  just  the  same  proportion  used)  in  the  one  case  as  in 
the  other. 

Since  strong  stimulation  decreases  the  excitability  of  nervous 
substance,  it  is  intelligible  that  the  fraction  which  expresses  the 
relative  increase  of  stimulus  necessary  to  produce  a just  notice- 
able increase  of  sensation  should  be  larger  in  the  case  of  strong 
stimuli  than  in  that  of  moderate  (Weber’s  law).  And  we  find 
that  while  the  just  noticeable  difference  of  noise  is  one-third  for 
moderate  sounds,  it  is  much  more  than  one-third  for  extremely 
loud  sounds. 

Since  weak  stimulation  increases  the  excitability  of  nervous 
substance,  we  might  suppose  that  the  corresponding  fraction 
would  be  smaller  than  that  which  expresses  Weber’s  law.  The 
reverse  is  the  case  : the  fraction  is  larger  for  less  than  moderate, 
as  it  was  for  more  than  moderate  stimuli.  The  just  noticeable 
difference  of  very  faint  noise,  that  is,  is  also  more  than  one- 
third. 

The  reasons  for  this,  at  first  sight  anomalous,  fact  are  as  follows. 
(1)  It  is  difficult  to  hold  the  attention  upon  a very  weak  stimulus. 
Hence  small  differences  between  very  faint  sensations  may  pass  un- 
noticed ( cf . §§  38,  41).  (2)  The  sense-organs  are  at  all  times 

subject  to  the  action  of  weak  internal  stimulation.  In  some  cases 


go  Intensity,  Extent,  Duration  of  Sensation 

this  stimulation  is  strong  enough  to  maintain  a permanent  sensation 
( cj '.  the  black  of  the  retina,  § 24),  in  other  cases  it  only  occasion- 
ally reaches  the  necessary  strength  (we  are  ordinarily  insensible, 
e.g.,  to  the  internal  ear-noises,  corresponding  to  the  pumping  of 
blood  through  the  arteries  of  the  internal  ear)  : it  is  always  present 
in  some  degree.  When  we  state  numerically  the  increase  of  stim- 
ulus required  to  produce  an  increase  of  sensation,  we  make  this  in- 
crease a fractional  part  of  the  external  stimulus  alone  : it  should 
properly  be  calculated  as  a fractional  part  of  external  plus  internal 
stimulus.  Thus  if  a very  faint  sound  had  to  be  increased  by  one- 
half,  that  the  two  might  be  sensed  as  different,  we  should  say  that 
Weber’s  law  did  not  hold : Weber’s  law  demands  a difference  of 
one-third  only.  Yet  this  addition,  which  is  one-half  of  the  ex- 
ternal sound,  might  be  one-third  of  external  sound  plus  artery- 
sounds, — if  we  could  but  measure  the  latter.  In  general  terms, 
the  deviation  from  Weber’s  law  may  oftentimes  be  apparent 
only,  not  real.  (3)  If  the  deviation  be  real,  we  may  suppose 
that  the  increase  of  nervous  excitability,  within  the  time  limits 
of  a single  experiment,  is  not  sufficient  to  counterbalance  the 
resistance  offered  by  nervous  substance  to  the  incoming  of  stim- 
ulus. 

(5)  The  numerical  expression  of  Weber’s  law  is  differ- 
ent in  the  different  sense  departments.  By  the  eye  we 
can  appreciate  a difference  of  one-hundredth  in  the  in- 
tensity of  a stimulus ; by  the  ear,  a difference  of  one-third 
only.  This  proves  that  the  nervous  substance  of  the  eye 
is  far  more  excitable  by  ether  vibrations  than  is  that  of  the 
ear  by  air-waves. 

It  is  plain  from  these  considerations  that  the  bodily  con- 
ditions of  sensation  intensity  are  of  a general  nature,  that 
they  are  alike  in  all  the  sense-organs.  And  wherever  our 
estimation  of  durations  and  extents  is  based  upon  differ- 
ences in  the  intensity  of  strain  sensations,  the  bodily  con- 
ditions of  these  aspects  of  sensation  are  the  same  as  the 


§ 30-  The  Meaning  of  Weber's  Law  91 

conditions  of  intensity.  Weber’s  law  ‘explains’  the  phe- 
nomena of  intensity,  extent  and  duration,  over  the  whole 
domain  of  sensation,  in  the  sense  in  which  our  account  of 
the  structure  and  function  of  eye  or  ear  ‘ explains  ’ the 
qualities  of  vision  or  audition. 


CHAPTER  V 


-Affection  as  a Conscious  Element.  The  Methods 

OF  INVESTIGATING  AFFECTION 

§ 31.  The  Definition  of  Affection. — We  can  quite  well 
conceive  of  a mind  which  should  be  entirely  made  up  of 
sensation  processes  and  the  processes  arising  from  the 
interconnection  and  intermixture  of  sensations  (perceptions 
and  ideas).  Certain  mythologies  represent  the  divine 
mind  to  be  of  this  type  : it  is  omniscient  ( i.e .,  the  ideas 
of  which  it  consists  form  the  total  sum  of  all  possible 
ideas),  but  it  is  also  indifferent  (unfeeling)  and  contem- 
.plative  (inactive).  Mind  as  we  observe  it,  however,  is  of 
a very  different  nature.  The  living  organism  is  exposed 
through  its  sense-organs  to  all  manner  of  stimuli,  and  its 
mental  processes  are  in  large  measure  the  sensation  pro- 
cesses directly  aroused  by  these  stimuli.  But  the  organism 
is  not  indifferent.  It  not  only  senses : it  feels.  It  not 
only  receives  impressions  and  has  sensations : it  receives 
impressions  in  a certain  way. 

When  we  have  spoken  in  previous  Sections  of  the  effect 
of  stimulation  upon  a bodily  organ,  we  have  thought  of 
the  body  as  entirely  passive.  We  have  pictured  the 
stimulus  as  forcing  its  way  through  the  organ,  and  setting 
up  some  change  in  it  and  in  the  brain,  just  as  we  might 
have  pictured  the  photographer’s  acid  eating  away  the 
surface  of  the  sensitive  plate.  But  the  body  is  alive ; and 


92 


§ 31-  The  Definitio?i  of  Affection  93 

life  means  the  balance  of  power  (more  or  less  perfect)  in 
the  perpetual  conflict  of  two  opposing  forces,  — growth 
and  decay.  No  impression  can  be  made  upon  the  living 
body  that  does  not  tend  in  some  way  to  change  this 
balance,  — that  does  not  tip  the  scale  on  one  side  or  the 
other,  furthering  growth  or  hastening  decay.  Hence 
every  stimulus  that  produces  a special  effect,  within  a 
certain  organ  and  the  area  of  the  brain  cortex  with  which 
that  organ  is  connected,  must  also  produce  a general  effect 
upon  the  nervous  system  {cf  § 30).  It  must  help  either 
to  build  up  nervous  substance  or  to  break  it  down.  The 
organism  is  a whole : and  what  affects  it  in  either  of  these 
ways  at  one  part,  must  affect  it  as  a whole,  in  all.  The 
conscious  processes  corresponding  to  the  general  bodily 
processes  thus  set  up  by  stimuli — processes  not  confined 
to  definite  bodily  organs  — are  termed  affections. 

It  will  be  readily  understood  that  we  cannot  classify 
affections  as  we  classified  sensations  ; that  there  are  no 
different  orders  or  groups  of  affections  as  there  are  of 
sensations.  There  are  many  sense-organs,  and  each  organ 
furnishes  one  or  two  groups  or  classes  of  sensations : but 
there  is  only  one  affective  organ,  — the  whole  body.  It 
will  be  seen,  further,  that  there  cannot  be  so  many  quali- 
ties of  affection  as  there  are,  eg.,  of  sight  or  hearing. 
We  have  a large  number  of  sensations  of  colour,  because 
ether-waves  of  different  lengths  set  up  different  chemical 
processes  within  the  retina ; we  have  a large  number  of 
sensations  of  tone,  because  air-waves  of  different  lengths 
throw  different  fibres  of  the  basilar  membrane  into  vi- 
bration. But  there  are  only  two  bodily  processes  to  give 
rise  to  affective  processes : the  building-up  process  (anab- 
olism) and  the  breaking-down  process  (catabolism).  We 


94  Affection  as  a Conscious  Element 

should  expect,  then,  to  find  no  more  than  two  qualities  of 
affection.  And  introspection  tells  us  that  the  expectation 
is  correct.  The  anabolic  bodily  processes  correspond  to 
the  conscious  quality  of  pleasantness,  catabolic  processes 
to  that  of  unpleasantness.  These  are  the  only  qualities  of 
affection. 

In  our  definition  of  sensation,  we  took  account  of  its 
simplicity  as  a conscious  process,  and  of  its  bodily  con- 
ditions. Of  the  simplicity  of  affection  — pleasantness  and 
unpleasantness  — there  can  be  no  doubt : neither  of  its 
two  qualities  can  be  analysed  into  more  simple  and  ele- 
mentary components.  It  is,  as  we  have  seen,  unlike  sen- 
sation in  that  it  is  not  connected  with  a bodily  process 
in  a definite  bodily  organ.  The  organism,  as  a whole, 
receives  the  impressions  made  upon  it  in  a certain  way : 
an  affection  is  the  conscious  process  arising  from  its  ‘ way 
of  receiving  ’ a particular  impression. 

§ 32.  Affection  and  Sensation.  — The  processes  of  pleas- 
antness and  unpleasantness  seem,  at  least  in  many  cases, 
to  bear  a strong  resemblance  to  certain  concrete  experi- 
ences which  we  have  analysed,  provisionally,  as  complexes 
of  sensations  (§  21).  Thus  pleasantness  may  suggest 
health,  drowsiness,  bodily  comfort ; and  unpleasantness 
pain,  discomfort,  overtiredness,  etc.  Hence  it  might  be 
supposed  — notwithstanding  the  statements  of  the  preced- 
ing Section  — that  the  two  qualities  which  we  have  ascribed 
to  affection  are  in  reality  two  new  qualities  of  organic  sen- 
sation ; perhaps  common,  like  pressure,  to  various  groups 
of  sensory  nerves,  perhaps  restricted,  like  strain,  to  one 
single  set  of  bodily  organs. 

Now  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  resemblance  in  the 
instances  cited.  But  the  reason  of  it  is  simply  this : that 


§ 32-  Affection  and  Sensation 


95 


health,  drowsiness,  and  bodily  comfort  are  pleasant,  i.e., 
that  pleasantness  is  one  of  the  constituent  processes,  run- 
ning alongside  of  various  sensation  processes,  in  the  total 
conscious  experience  which  we  call  ‘ health,’  etc.  ; and 
that  pain,  bodily  discomfort,  and  overtiredness  arc  unpleas- 
ant, i.e.,  that  unpleasantness  is  one  of  the  processes  con- 
tained in  each  of  these  complex  experiences.  Beyond  this 
there  is  no  resemblance : a sensation  process  is  radically 
different  from  a pleasantness  or  unpleasantness.  The 
following  considerations  will  be  enough  to  make  the  fact 
clear. 

(i)  The  first  great  difference  between  sensations  on  the 
one  hand  and  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  on  the 
other  is  that  the  former  are  looked  upon  as  more  or  less 
common  property,  — as  inherent,  so  to  speak,  in  the 
objects  which  give  rise  to  them,  and  therefore  as  possible 
parts  of  every  one’s  experience,  — while  the  latter  are  our 
own  peculiar  property.  Blue  seems  to  belong  to  the  sky  ; 
but  the  pleasantness  of  the  blue  is  in  me.  Warmth  seems 
to  belong  to  the  burning  coals ; but  the  pleasantness  of 
the  warmth  is  in  me.  Regarded  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  psychologist,  blue,  warm  and  pleasant  are  all  mental 
processes,  all  facts  of  one’s  own  experience ; regarded 
from  the  point  of  view  of  ordinary  life,  blue  and  warm  are 
somehow  detachable  from  oneself  and  one’s  personal 
experience,  whereas  pleasantness  is  always  within  oneself. 
The  distinction  is  unhesitatingly  drawn  in  popular  thought, 
and  clearly  shown  in  language.  It  points  to  a real  differ- 
ence between  sensation  and  affection  as  factors  in  mental 
experience,  — a difference  which  the  psychologist  must 
make  explicit  in  his  definition  of  the  two  processes. 

The  same  difference  is  observed  even  when  we  compare 


96 


Affection  as  a Conscious  Element 


the  affective  processes  with  those  sensations  which  are 
occasioned  from  within,  by  a change  in  the  state  of  a 
bodily  organ.  The  unpleasantness  of  a toothache  is  far 
more  personal  to  me  than  the  pain  of  it.  The  pain  is  ‘ in 
the  tooth  ’ ; the  unpleasantness  is  as  wide  as  conscious- 
ness.1 So  too  when  the  discomfort  of  a cramped  position 
makes  me  shift  in  my  chair : the  muscular  and  circulatory 
pains  proceed  from  certain  parts  of  the  body,  but  the 
unpleasantness  pervades  the  whole  consciousness  of  the 
moment.  Satiety  and  easy  digestion  dispose  one  to  a 
favourable  view  of  things  in  general : the  sensations 
which  enter  into  them  are  referred  to  the  alimentary 
canal,  but  their  pleasantness  is  diffused  over  the  whole 
mental  horizon. 

We  may  put  this  first  difference  between  sensation  and 
affection  briefly  as  follows : Sensations  are  objective  and 
local,  affections  are  subjective  and  coextensive  with  con- 
sciousness. 

It  is  an  obvious  corollary  to  this  statement  that  two  affections 
cannot  run  their  course  as  conscious  processes  at  the  same  time. 
Nothing  can  be  at  once  pleasant  and  unpleasant. 

‘ AVhy,  then,’  it  may  be  asked,  ‘ do  we  hear  of  “ mixed  feel- 
ings”? Why  does  Shakespeare  make  Juliet  say:  “Parting  is 
such  sweet  sorrow” — i.e.,  a pleasant  unpleasantness?  Or  how 
can  Tennyson’s  Geraint  look  at  the  dinnerless  mowers  with 
“humorous  ruth”  — i.e.,  again,  with  a pleasant  unpleasant  feel- 
ing ? ’ The  answer  is  that  the  nervous  system  may  very  well  be 
exposed,  at  different  quarters,  to  stimuli  some  of  which  are  cata- 
bolic and  some  anabolic ; some  of  which,  that  is,  if  felt  by  them- 
selves, would  be  felt  pleasantly,  and  some  of  which,  if  felt  alone, 

1 The  word  ‘ pain,’  as  used  in  ordinary  conversation,  often  means  the  whole 
toothache  experience  : pressure  sensation,  pain  sensation  and  unpleasantness, 
In  the  text  the  word  is  used  in  its  strict  meaning,  to  indicate  the  organic  sen- 
sation in  the  complex  (§  21). 


§ 32.  Affection  and  Sensation 


97 


would  be  felt  unpleasantly.  And  the  attention  may  oscillate,  as 
it  were,  between  the  one  group  and  the  other ; so  that  pleasant- 
ness and  unpleasantness  succeed  each  another  in  consciousness 
with  great  rapidity.  The  boy  leaves  home  for  school  with  ‘ mixed 
feelings’;  he  is  sorry  to  go  (unpleasantness),  but  his  new  watch 
partly  reconciles  him  to  his  fate  (pleasantness).  Nevertheless,  at 
any  given  moment  he  is  either  glad  or  sorry ; watch-conscious- 
ness and  parting-consciousness  succeed  each  other  rapidly,  but 
never  overlap  ; there  is  no  moment  of  combined  joy  and  sorrow. 

(2)  If  we  are  exposed  for  a long  time  together  to  the 
same  stimulus  (and  if  the  sensation  which  the  stimulus 
arouses  is  not  of  a kind  to  pass  over  into  pain:  § 25),  we 
cease  to  be  affected  by  it  at  all.  The  cookery  of  a foreign 
country  is,  when  we  first  make  acquaintance  with  it,  dis- 
tinctly pleasant  or  unpleasant ; but  in  either  case  quickly 
becomes  indifferent.  Dwellers  in  the  country  do  not  find 
the  pleasure  in  country  scents  and  odours  that  the  towns- 
man does  ; they  have  ‘ grown  used  ’ to  their  surroundings. 
The  whir  of  a sewing  machine  in  the  room  above  that  in 
which  we  are  working  may  at  first  be  extremely  annoying ; 
but  as  we  become  accustomed  to  it,  its  unpleasantness  dis- 
appears. The  smell  of  the  dissecting  room,  which  sickens 
us  at  our  first  entry,  does  not  affect  us  at  all  after  a little 
time.  And  it  is  the  same  with  centrally  aroused  pleasant- 
ness and  unpleasantness  [ cf . (4)  below].  During  the  first 
few  weeks  of  our  stay  in  a beautiful  neighbourhood  we 
may  be  continually  delighted  with  the  colours  and  forms 
of  the  landscape.  But  we  soon  grow  indifferent  to  them  : 
fields  and  streams  and  hills  are  seen  as  clearly  as  ever, 
but  have  ceased  to  excite  pleasure.  The  beauty  of  a new 
dinner  service  may  be  remarked  on  with  pleasure  for  a 
short  time,  but  ‘ familiarity  breeds  ’ indifference.  On  the 

H 


98 


Affection  as  a Conscious  Element 


other  hand,  a piece  of  vulgarity  which  at  first  offends  us 
may  be  taken  as  a matter  of  course  if  constantly  repeated 
among  those  into  whose  company  we  are  thrown. 

Habituation  to  an  experience,  then,  weakens  or  destroys 
the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  which  originally  at- 
tached to  it.  There  is  no  similar  weakening  or  destruc- 
tion of  sensations.  The  noise  of  the  sewing  machine  is 
heard  as  clearly  as  ever,  when  a friend  calls  our  attention 
to  it ; but  we  smile  as  we  listen,  thinking  of  our  earlier 
unpleasant  experience.  That  experience  has  gone,  not  to 
reappear.  This  is  the  second  cardinal  difference  between 
the  two  processes. 

‘ But,’  it  may  be  said,  ‘ affection  is  the  way  in  which  the  organ- 
ism receives  its  impressions.  How,  then,  can  anything  be  indiffer- 
ent? We  must  receive  impressions  somehow,  whether  we  are 
accustomed  to  them  or  not.’  We  reply  that  the  objection  does 
not  state  the  facts  quite  correctly.  Affection  is  not  the  ‘ way,’ 
but  the  ‘ conscious  process  corresponding  to  the  way  ’ in  which 
the  organism  receives  its  impressions.  Just  as  there  are  ^stimuli 
which  do  not  arouse  a sensation  (§  30),  so  there  is  a way  of 
receiving  impressions,  to  which  no  conscious  process  whatever 
corresponds.  To  explain  this,  we  must  emphasise  the  biological 
fact  of  adaptation.  The  organism  is  constantly  exposed  to  a 
multitude  of  impressions  : to  sights,  sounds,  changes  of  tempera- 
ture, organic  disturbances,  etc.  Every  one  of  these  does,  un- 
doubtedly, exercise  a definite  effect  upon  it,  for  good  or  for 
harm.  But  nervous  substance,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  very 
impressionable,  is  eminently  adaptable.  The  organism  adjusts 
itself  to  its  circumstances,  — resigns  itself,  so  to  say,  to  their  in- 
evitableness. When  once  adaptation  or  adjustment  to  surround- 
ings is  complete,  the  surroundings  cease  to  be  taken  either 
pleasantly  or  unpleasantly  : their  impressions  are  simply  received, 
passively  and  unfeelingly. 

‘ Adaptation  ’ is  a biological  term.  Translated  into  physiology  it 


§ 32-  Affection  and  Sensation 


99 


means  that  the  disturbance  of  nervous  equilibrium  (§31)  caused 
by  a particular  set  of  stimuli  can  be  adjusted  by  the  lower  nerve- 
centres,  without  appeal  to  the  highest  co-ordinating  centre  [see 
(4)  below].  There  is  enough  energy  stored  in  these  lower 
centres  to  repair  damage  done  to  the  organism  by  stimulation ; 
and  they  have  functioned  in  one  way  so  often  that  they  no 
longer  need  direction,  but  can  be  trusted  to  do  what  is  required 
of  them  when  occasion  arises. 

(3)  The  more  closely  we  attend  to  a sensation,  the 
clearer  does  it  become,  and  the  longer  and  more  accu- 
rately do  we  remember  it.  We  cannot  attend  to  an  affec- 
tion at  all.  If  we  attempt  to  do  so,  the  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness  at  once  eludes  us  and  disappears,  and  we 
find  ourselves  attending  to  some  obtrusive  sensation  or 
idea  which  we  had  no  desire  to  observe.  If  we  wish  to 
get  pleasure  from  a beautiful  picture,  we  must  attend 
to  the  picture : if,  with  our  eyes  on  it,  we  try  to  attend 
to  our  feelings,  the  pleasantness  of  the  experience  is 
gone. 

This  difference  becomes  intelligible  when  we  remember  that 
affection  corresponds  to  the  way  in  which  the  organism  receives 
its  impressions.  We  can  never  attend  to  a way,  a manner  or 
mode  of  acting  or  being  acted  on.  Suppose  that  we  wish  to 
know  ‘how’  a steam-engine  works.  We  attend  to  the  parts  of 
the  machine,  note  the  different  positions  which  they  assume,  etc., 
and  so  form  an  idea  of  the  manner  in  which  the  engine  works. 
We  can  attend  to  this  idea  easily  enough ; we  can  attend  to  any 
idea.  But  the  idea  of  the  way  is  not  the  way  : that,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  cannot  be  attended  to. 

(4)  We  have  seen  that  sensations  arise  in  two  ways 
(§  7)>  — from  peripheral  stimulation  (flash  of  yellow  light) 
and  from  central  excitation  (remembrance  or  imagination 
of  yellow).  As  a general  rule,  ‘ central  ’ sensations  are 


100  Affection  as  a Conscious  Element 

much  fainter  and  weaker  than  ‘ peripheral.’  A remem- 
bered noise  has  hardly  anything  of  the  intensity  of  the 
noise  as  heard.  Affection  can  originate  -in  the  same 
two  ways.  But  ‘ central  ’ pleasantness  and  unpleasantness 
are  not  only  as  strong  as  — they  are  in  very  many  cases 
stronger  than  — ‘peripheral.’ 

Pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  can  be  set  up  peripherally  by 
an  impression  affecting  any  sensory  nerve.  The  balance  of 
anabolism  and  catabolism,  of  loss  and  gain,  may  be  disturbed 
at  any  point  of  the  peripheral  nervous  system.  They  can  be 
set  up  centrally,  again,  by  an  excitation  within  any  sensory  area 
of  the  cortex,  — the  visual  centre,  the  auditory  centre,  etc.  But 
it  is  necessary  in  both  cases  that  the  disturbance  be  carried  to 
the  highest  ‘ co-ordinating  centre  ’ of  the  brain,  — the  cortex  of  the 
frontal  lobes.  If  the  experience  is  indifferent,  — if  the  stimulus 
is  too  weak  to  force  its  way  through  the  lower  centres,  or  has  be- 
come habitual,  i.e.,  can  be  disposed  of  by  the  lower  centres,  — 
the  frontal  lobes  are  unaffected.  They  are  the  scene  of  anabolic 
processes  (well  supplied  with  oxygenated  blood)  if  the  experience 
is  pleasant ; of  catabolic  (scantily  supplied  with  oxygen  and  feebly 
irrigated  by  arterial  blood),  if  it  is  unpleasant. 

There  are  very  few  ‘ peripheral  ’ affections  which  can  success- 
fully compete  with  the  ‘central’  affections  in  the  civilised  mind. 
Different  men  are  differently  constituted  ; we  find  one  succumbing 
to  the  passion  of  sexual  lust,  another  to  the  pleasures  of  the  palate, 
etc.  But  the  only  peripheral  affection  which  can  be  counted  upon 
to  conquer  central  affection  in  the  average  mind  is  the  unpleasant- 
ness which  accompanies  an  extreme  intensity  of  the  organic  sen- 
sation of  pain  : and  even  this  rule  has  exceptions.  Instances  of 
the  contrary  are  plentiful:  pleasure  in  work  (central)  makes  us  for- 
get our  dinner  hour  and  the  pleasure  of  eating  (peripheral)  ; the 
glow  of  pleasure  attending  a good  action  (central)  leads  us  to  go 
out  of  doors  in  bad  weather  (peripheral  unpleasantness)  ; fear  of 
ridicule  (central  unpleasantness)  prevents  our  rising  to  close  a win- 
dow in  a draughty  concert  hall  (peripheral  unpleasantness),  etc. 


§ 33-  The  Methods  of  Investigating  Affection  ioi 

We  see,  then,  that  there  are  strong  reasons  for  regard- 
ing affection  as  different  from  sensation.  It  must  be 
carefully  noted  that  the  statements  just  given  of  these 
reasons  do  not  tell  us  how  ‘red,’  a sensation,  differs  from 
‘pleasant,’  an  affection,  in  mental  experience.  They  are 
sufficient  indication  that  a real  difference  exists ; but  the 
difference  itself  cannot  be  described,  — it  must  be  expe- 
rienced. 

§ 33.  The  Methods  of  investigating  Affection.  — There  are 
two  chief  difficulties  in  the  way  of  affective  investigation. 
We  cannot  attend  to  a pleasantness  or  unpleasantness; 
and  we  can  describe  our  affective  experience  only  in  a 
roundabout  way.  Hence  if  we  were  confined  exclusively 
to  the  employment  of  psychological  method,  — the  method 
of  experimental  introspection,  — we  should  find  it  very 
hard  to  give  an  adequate  account  of  affective  experience. 
Fortunately,  we  can  supplement  this  direct  method  by  an 
indirect,  physiological  method,  which  allows  us  to  infer  the 
presence  and  intensity  of  affective  processes  from  their 
bodily  consequences. 

The  second  difficulty  — that  of  describing  affection  — must  not 
be  confused  with  the  difficulty  of  defining  affection.  It  is  just  as 
easy  to  define  affection  as  to  define  sensation,  if  we  understand 
by  definition  a statement  (1)  of  the  simplicity  of  the  processes, 
(2)  of  their  bodily  conditions  and  (3)  of  their  qualities. 

The  difficulty  of  describing  affection  lies  in  the  fact  that  spoken 
language  — words  and  sentences  — communicates  ideas,  and  ideas 
only.  If  I say  ‘ I am  very  angry,’  you  know  that  I am  angry,  but 
you  do  not  feel  my  anger.  A verbal  description  of  affection  is 
therefore  always  a description  at  second  hand;  it  translates  the 
affection  into  an  idea  of  affection,  and  conveys  to  the  hearer  not 
a pleasantness  or  unpleasantness,  but  simply  an  idea  of  pleasant- 
ness or  unpleasantness. 


102  Affection  as  a Conscious  Element 

There  is,  however,  an  affective  language  proper : the  language 
of  exclamation  and  gesture.  We  have  learnt,  in  the  course  of 
civilisation,  to  repress  our  emotions  : we  rarely  use  this  language, 
and  if  on  occasion  we  wish  to  do  so,  are  apt  to  make  ourselves 
ridiculous.  But  that  the  language  might  have  been  developed 
cannot  be  doubted  by  any  one  who  has  observed  dogs  and  mon- 
keys, or  has  seen  the  effect  produced  upon  an  audience  by  some 
great  actor’s  presentation  of  pity  or  despair. 

(i)  Psychological  Method.- — -A  series  is  formed  of 
stimuli  which  belong  to  the  same  sense  department  (col- 
oured papers,  woollen  fabrics,  etc.).  Each  in  turn  is  pre- 
sented to  the  observer,  who  gives  it  his  complete  attention, 
and  when  it  has  produced  its  full  effect  for  sensation,  asks 
himself  whether  it  is  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  and  whether 
it  is  more  or  less  pleasant  or  unpleasant  than  preceding 
impressions.  The  rule  of  experimental  introspection  in 
the  sphere  of  affection  will  accordingly  run  as  follows  ( cf . 
§ 9):  Have  yourself  placed  under  such  conditions  that  there  is 
as  little  likelihood  as  possible  of  external  interference  with 
the  test  to  be  made.  Attend  to  each  stimulus  as  it  is  pre- 
sented, and,  when  it  is  removed,  form  an  idea  (§  59)  of  the 
pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  which  you  felt  during  its 
observation.  Put  this  idea  into  words,  stating  (1)  whether 
it  is  an  idea  of  pleasurable  affection,  unpleasurable  affection 
or  indifference,  and  (2)  in  the  tzvo  former  cases,  whether  it 
is  an  idea  of  much  or  little,  more  or  less,  pleasantness  or 
zmpleasantness.  The  assistant’s  account  of  the  conditions, 
and  your  own  verbal  translation  {i.e.,  translation  into 
ideas)  of  your  affective  experience  furnish  data  from 
which  other  psychologists  can  work. 

It  is  probable  that  in  every  series  of  stimuli,  such  as  this  method 
requires,  there  will  be  some  accustomed  or  habitual  impressions, 


§ 33-  The  Methods  of  Investigating  Affection  103 

which  are  neither  pleasant  nor  unpleasant.  These  must  be  marked 
‘ indifferent.’  Indifference  is  not  a third  affective  quality  : the 
indifferent  impression  is  one  from  which  affection  has  ‘ worn  off.’ 

(2)  Physiological  Method.  — Affection  appears  when 
there  is  a general  alteration  of  the  nervous  system,  in- 
cluding its  highest  co-ordinating  organ,  by  way  of  anabo- 
lism or  catabolism  : in  the  one  case  we  have  pleasantness, 
in  the  other  unpleasantness.  Such  an  alteration  will,  of 
course,  show  itself  in  certain  bodily  effects.  Seeing  these 
effects,  and  knowing  that  the  cause  of  them  - — the  nervous 
change — -is  the  bodily  condition  of  affection,  we  are  able 
to  turn  them  to  account  for  psychological  purposes. 

The  principal  bodily  effects  are  four  in  number.  We 
find  that  pleasantness  is  attended  (1)  by  increase  of  bodily 
volume,  due  to  the  expansion  of  arteries  running  just 
beneath  the  skin ; (2)  by  deepened  breathing ; (3)  by 
heightened  pulse  ; and  (4)  by  increase  of  muscular  power. 
Unpleasantness  is  accompanied  by  the  reverse  phenom- 
ena of  lessened  volume,  light  breathing,  weak  pulse,  and 
diminished  muscular  power.  There  are  special  physio- 
logical instruments  by  which  each  of  these  manifestations 
can  be  measured.  If  we  arrange  them  so  that  they  record 
the  state  of  the  subject’s  pulse,  muscular  strength,  etc., 
and  then  bring  to  bear  upon  him  various  forms  of  stimula- 
tion, calculated  to  call  up  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness 
in  varying  degrees,  we  can  infer  from  the  changes  in  the 
records  how  he  has  ‘ felt  ’ from  moment  to  moment  of  the 
experiment.  Introspection  is  here  altogether  unnecessary. 

Let  us  suppose  that  the  subject  is  ‘ in  position  ’ : the  chest  con- 
nected with  an  instrument  which  writes  the  respiration  curve,  the 
rise  and  fall  of  the  chest  in  inspiration  and  expiration,  the  left 
wrist  with  another,  which  marks  the  pulse  beats,  the  right  leg  with 


104  Affection  as  a Conscious  Element 

a third,  which  registers  volume,  and  the  right  hand  ready  at  com- 
mand to  grip  the  handle  of  a ‘ dynamometer,’  which  will  record 
the  amount  of  muscular  force  that  the  hand  can  put  forth.  He 
is  told  that,  whatever  happens,  he  must  remain  still,  in  order  that 
the  various  instruments  may  not  be  deranged  ; and  he  is  told 
further  that  the  unpleasant  stimuli  to  be  employed  are  not  so  very 
unpleasant  that  he  need  have  any  great  apprehension  of  what  will 
happen  to  him.  After  a short  time  has  elapsed,  a spoonful  of 
some  colourless  liquid  is  poured  into  his  mouth.  In  spite  of  the 
assurances  given,  the  records  will  probably  show  some  trace  of 
agitation  at  this  moment.  However,  if  the  liquid  is  sweet,  the 
pleasantness  of  the  stimulus  will  at  once  make  itself  apparent  in 
the  curves,  and  on  the  scale  of  the  dynamometer.  After  another 
brief  interval  another  stimulus  is  given  : perhaps  another  sweet, 
perhaps  a bitter,  perhaps  a tasteless  solution.  The  resulting  pleas- 
antness, unpleasantness  or  indifference  will  be  clearly  marked  by 
the  instruments. 

The  general  rules  for  the  introspection  of  affection  are 
the  same  as  those  for  the  introspection  of  sensation.  We 
must  be  (i)  impartial,  (2)  closely  attentive  to  the  stimuli, 
(3)  fresh  and  (4)  well-disposed.  The  last  condition  is  es- 
pecially important.  For  the  way  in  which  we  receive 
impressions  must  naturally  vary  as  our  ‘ mood  ’ varies. 
If  we  are  unusually  cheerful,  all  the  stimuli  of  the  series 
will  tend  to  be  pleasant ; if  we  are  depressed  and  melan- 
choly, the  experiment  and  everything  connected  with  it  are 
likely  to  be  unpleasant.  The  subject’s  mood  must  be  care- 
fully observed  and  noted  by  the  assistant  before  the  ex- 
perimental series  is  begun. 

This  last  rule  applies,  with  even  greater  stringency,  to 
investigation  by  the  physiological  method.  We  must  be 
quite  certain  that  the  pulse,  volume,  etc.,  recorded  by  the 
various  instruments  at  the  beginning  of  the  experiments 


§ 34-  The  Attributes  of  Affection  105 

represent  a mental  indifference  on  the  part  of  the  observer. 
The  bodily  expressions  of  affection  have  no  value  at  all, 
unless  we  know  precisely  what  the  state  of  the  body  is 
before  affection  appears  in  consciousness.  If  we  always 
begin  with  indifference,  increase  or  decrease  of  pulse,  mus- 
cular strength,  etc.,  as  recorded  by  the  instruments  from 
day  to  day,  gives  us  a reliable  measure  of  the  variations  in 
quality  and  intensity  of  the  affective  process  under  different 
experimental  conditions. 

§ 34.  The  Attributes  of  Affection.  — Affection  has  two 
qualities , — pleasantness  and  unpleasantness.  Each  of 
these  qualities  may  appear  at  very  different  degrees  of 
intensity , and,  when  present,  may  last  for  a longer  or 
shorter  time.  Neither,  of  course,  has  the  attribute  of  spa- 
tial extent,  though  we  may  say,  in  metaphorical  language, 
that  the  affection  of  any  moment  is  ‘ coextensive  with  con- 
sciousness.’ 

All  three  attributes  — quality,  intensity  and  duration  — 
call  for  brief  notice  here. 

(1)  Quality. — We  have  already  spoken  of  the  general 
bodily  conditions  under  which  the  two  affective  qualities 
appear  in  consciousness.  But  we  cannot  say  anything 
certainly  of  the  degree  of  nervous  loss  or  gain  which  cor- 
responds to  a particular  intensity  of  pleasantness  or  un- 
pleasantness. Hence  in  practical  life  we  always  refer 
affections  to  stimuli,  to  the  external  occurrences  which 
seem  to  give  rise  to  them.  And  in  recording  the  results 
of  experiments  upon  affection  — whether  made  by  the 
psychological  or  the  physiological  method  — we  find  it 
necessary  to  give  the  special  conditions  of  their  appear- 
ance, i.e.,  to  name  the  external  stimuli  which  called  them 
forth  on  each  particular  occasion.  A general  rule  has 


106  Affection  as  a Conscious  Element 

been  formulated,  on  the  basis  of  experiments  thus  re- 
corded, to  the  effect  that,  other  things  equal,  weak  stimuli 
are  indifferent,  stimuli  of  moderate  intensity  pleasant,  and 
strong  stimuli  unpleasant. 

“Other  things  equal”  is  a very  needful  qualification.  If  other 
things  are  not  equal,  — if  the  peripheral  affection  be  reinforced  or 
checked  by  a central,  — the  rule  does  not  hold.  Thus,  if  we  are 
seeking  to  ascertain  the  minimal  sensation  intensity,  a weak  stim- 
ulus may  be  absorbingly  interesting,  instead  of  being  indifferent, 
as  the  rule  says. 

The  ‘weak’  stimuli  of  the  rule  are  those  which  cannot  over- 
come the  resistance  of  the  lower  nerve-centres,  and  force  their 
way  through  them  to  the  frontal  lobes.  Stimuli  of  this  sort  are 
neither  pleasant  nor  unpleasant.  ‘ Moderate  ’ stimuli  are  those 
which  call  upon  the  bodily  organs  to  exercise  their  normal  func- 
tion, and  thus  further  growth  and  development.  ‘ Strong  ’ stimuli 
are  those  which  make  too  severe  demands  upon  the  organs,  i.e., 
favour  catabolism.  The  rule  cannot  be  made  more  definite,  since 
1 strong  ’ and  ‘ weak,’  always  relative  terms,  are  here  doubly  relative. 
( i ) They  are  relative  in  that  they  vary  with  the  quality  of  sensa- 
tion. It  takes  far  more  sweet  to  make  a strong  sweet  than  it  takes 
bitter  to  make  a strong  bitter ; it  takes  a far  louder  bass  note 
than  treble  note  to  make  a strong  auditory  stimulus.  (2)  They 
are  relative  in  that  they  vary  with  the  excitability  of  nervous  sub- 
stance. What  is  strong  to  one  man  may  be  weak  to  another,  or 
even  to  the  same  nervous  system  at  another  time.  ‘ Strong  ’ and 
‘ weak,’  that  is,  change  in  meaning  as  the  conditions  change  under 
which  they  are  applied. 

The  rule  only  holds  good,  again,  for  stimuli  of  certain  dura- 
tions. A weak  stimulus,  long  continued,  has  the  same  effect  upon 
the  organism  as  a moderate  stimulus,  operative  for  a short  time. 
A stimulus  of  moderate  intensity  ceases  to  be  pleasant  if  its  opera- 
tion is  prolonged.  We  either  grow  accustomed,  i.e.,  become  indif- 
ferent, to  it,  or  we  find  it  unpleasant.  Physiology  teaches  us  that  a 
continued  stimulation,  to  which  the  organism  has  not  adapted  itself, 


§ 34-  The  Attributes  of  Affection  107 

decreases  the  excitability  of  nervous  substance,  making  towards 
catabolism.  For  the  same  reason  an  irregular  recurrence  of  stim- 
ulation, in  whatever  sense  department,  is  unpleasant : flickering 
light,  ‘ pins  and  needles,’  jarring  sounds,  etc.  Lastly,  a strong 
stimulus,  if  it  act  only  for  a short  time,  may  be  sensed  and  felt 
as  would  a moderate  stimulus,  longer  continued.  This  is  seen, 
e.g..  in  the  carrying  or  lifting  of  weights. 

(2)  Intensity.  — It  has  been  suggested  — and  the  sug- 
gestion is  not  improbable  — that  if  the  intensity  of  pleas- 
antness or  unpleasantness  is  to  be  increased  by  equal 
amounts,  its  stimuli  must  increase  by  relatively  equal 
amounts  (Weber’s  law).  If  my  library  contains  100  vol- 
umes, and  10  more  are  given  me,  I am  as  pleased  as  I 
should  be  by  an  addition  of  100  to  a library  of  1000.  At 
any  rate,  it  is  true,  as  a general  rule,  that  what  causes  us 
pleasure  and  displeasure  is  proportional  to  our  income, 
station  in  life,  etc.  A child  is  pleased  by  a gift  to  which 
an  adult  would  be  indifferent. 

The  stamp  which  completes  a ‘set’  in  the  school-boy’s  album 
gives  him  as  much  pleasure  as  the  acquisition  of  the  last  farm 
which  completes  the  ring-fence  gives  the  wealthy  landed  pro- 
prietor. And  an  ironical  phrase  or  sarcastic  expression  of  face 
wounds  a sensitive  mind  as  much  as  an  open  rebuff  or  direct 
affront  affects  one  of  coarser  fibre. 

(3)  Duration.  — The  duration  of  a pleasantness  or  un- 
pleasantness can  hardly  be  estimated.  It  is  very  difficult 
to  say  just  when  we  cease  to  be  affected  by  an  event  and 
become  indifferent  to  it.  Moreover,  a peripheral  affection 
is  almost  invariably  blended  with  and  continued  in  a 
central ; and  as  the  two  are  precisely  the  same  in  quality, 
nothing  can  be  said  of  the  time  at  which  the  one  ceases 
and  the  other  begins. 


io8  Affection  as  a Conscious  Element 

“ How  delightful  ! — Who  could  have  sent  it  ! ” is  the  exclama- 
tion that  we  all  make  when  we  receive  an  unexpected  present 
from  an  unknown  giver.  The  peripheral  pleasantness  is  hardly 
there  before  we  begin  to  imagine  reasons  for  the  gift,  cast  round 
for  the  giver,  etc.,  i.e.,  before  a central  affection  is  added  to  it. 
And  on  the  other  side  : how  much  of  our  chagrin  at  a fall  on  a 
slippery  path  is  due  to  peripheral  unpleasantness  accompanying 
the  pain  of  the  bruise,  and  how  much  to  central  unpleasantness  — 
“How  stupid  of  me  to  slip!”?  Only  in  very  extreme  cases, 
during  intense  pain,  is  the  affection  exclusively  peripheral,  and  in 
these  cases  there  is  generally  a rapid  passage  to  unconsciousness 
(swoon  or  faint). 


CHAPTER  VI 


Conation  and  Attention 

§ 35.  Bodily  Tendency  and  Mental  Constitution.  — In  the 
last  chapter  we  dwelt  upon  the  fact  that  the  organism 
receives  impressions  in  a certain  way : the  consciousness 
of  any  moment  is  made  up,  not  of  sensations  alone,  but  of 
sensations  and  affection.  Having  now  examined  the  con- 
scious processes  which  correspond  to  the  ‘ impressions  ’ 
and  to  the  ‘way  in  which  they  are  received,’  we  have, 
in  the  present  chapter,  to  consider  the  nature  of  the  ‘ or- 
ganism ’ itself,  — ■ to  enquire  whether  there  are  any  organic 
functions  or  processes,  altogether  independent  of  stimu- 
lus, with  which  other  specific  conscious  processes  are 
connected. 

We  may  define  an  organism,  from  our  present  stand- 
point, as  a bundle  of  tendencies.  A tendency  is,  by  deriva- 
tion, a ‘stretching  towards.’  The  living  body,  as  we  have 
regarded  it  hitherto,  consists  of  two  things : the  sense- 
organs  and  the  nervous  system.  The  sense-organs  are 
instruments  which  work  in  pretty  much  the  same  way  for 
all  normal  persons.  The  same  sense  stimulus  will  always 
give  rise  to  the  same  sensation : a certain  ether-wave 
arouses  the  sensation  of  blue  in  all  normal  eyes,  a body 
of  a certain  chemical  constitution  arouses  the  sensation  of 
sweet  on  all  normal  tongues.  And  at  any  given  time,  each 
man’s  nervous  system  — the  most  complicated  and  most 

109 


I TO 


Conation  and  Attention 


highly  developed  part  of  his  body  - — - responds,  as  a whole, 
in  the  same  way  to  the  same  attributes  of  stimulus.  Mod- 
erate stimulation  is  pleasant,  excessive  or  intermittent 
stimulation  unpleasant.  But  we  have  seen  that  there  is  a 
great  difference  between  different  nervous  systems,  and  in 
the  same  nervous  system  at  different  times : a particular 
sense  stimulus,  while  it  always  produces  the  same  effects 
in  the  sense-organ  and  the  part  of  the  brain  with  which 
the  organ  is  most  directly  connected,  does  not  always  pro- 
duce the  same  effect  upon  the  total  nervous  system. 
What  is  pleasant  to  one  man  now  may  be  unpleasant  or 
indifferent  to  another,  and  to  himself  at  another  time.  As 
between  different  nervous  systems,  these  differences  show 
themselves  antecedently  to  any  habituation  of  the  organ- 
ism to  the  impression. 

In  biological  language,  the  differences  are  differences  of 
tendency.  The  nervous  system  has,  in  every  individual 
case,  certain  definite  leanings,  a bias  in  certain  definite 
directions.  It  is  more  inclined,  better  fitted,  to  receive 
certain  impressions  than  to  receive  others.  In  physio- 
logical language,  the  functions  of  the  nervous  system  dif- 
fer, in  degree  if  not  in  kind,  in  every  individual  case.  The 
nervous  system,  regarded  as  a machine,  is  a machine  which 
can  do  one  kind  of  work  and  not  another,  — ■ or,  if  it  does 
this  other,  can  do  it  less  thoroughly ; and  the  kind  of 
work,  or  the  thoroughness  of  its  doing,  varies  from  man 
to  man. 

We  may  compare  different  nervous  systems  to  different 
languages.  The  general  function  of  all  languages  is  the 
same,  — the  communication  of  ideas ; and  the  general 
function  of  all  nervous  systems  is  the  same.  But  just  as 
different  languages  are  differently  adapted  to  the  perform- 


§ 35-  Bodily  Tendency  and  Mental  Constitution  in 

ance  of  special  functions,  — Italian  is  the  language  to  sing 
in,  German  the  language  to  philosophise  in,  French  the 
language  for  science,  English  the  language  of  commerce 
and  practical  intercourse,  — so  different  nervous  systems 
are  differently  adapted  to  the  performance  of  special  func- 
tions. They  have  a ‘ tendency  ’ towards  the  performance 
of  one,  while  there  is  friction  of  the  machinery,  more  or 
less  serious,  if  they  are  called  upon  to  perform  others. 

The  question  how  tendencies  originate  is  one  for  the  biologist, 
not  the  psychologist,  to  answer.  We  can  merely  note  here  that 
some  are  ‘ natural  ’ and  some  ‘ acquired.’ 

(1)  Natural  Tendencies.  — The  history  of  an  individual  does 
not  begin  with  his  first  appearance  in  the  world  as  an  individual, 
an  independent  centre  of  experiences,,  but  goes  far  back  to  the 
very  beginnings  of  life.  Our  natural,  i.e.,  inherited  tendencies  are 
derived  largely  from  our  parents,  but  in  part  also  from  their  parents, 
and  in  part  from  remote  ancestors.  Plainly,  we  cannot  trace  the 
history  of  such  tendencies  very  fully  or  very  far.  But  it  is  sufficient 
for  our  present  purpose  to  recognise  that  every  living  being  is 
naturally  ‘ selective,’  in  greater  or  less  degree,  — has  ‘ affinities  ’ 
for  certain  stimuli,  as  chemical  elements  have  ‘ affinities  ’ for  cer- 
tain other  elements  : its  surroundings  do  not  all  appeal  to  it  with 
equal  force ; there  are  lines  of  less  resistance  and  lines  of  greater 
resistance  along  which  its  functions  may  be  discharged. 

(2)  Acquired  Tendencies.  — The  strength  of  the  natural  ten- 
dencies, however,  is  very  different  in  different  individuals  ; and  the 
child’s  nervous  system  is  very  plastic,  very  easily  moulded.  Hence 
habit  may  become  second  nature  : a tendency  engrafted  on  the 
organism  from  without  may  come  to  such  a growth  as  entirely  to 
overshadow  its  natural  or  hereditary  leanings.  Many  a young  man 
whose  ‘ taste  ’ is  for  art  has  entered  upon  a business  life  with  great 
reluctance  and  only  under  the  pressure  of  necessity ; but  when  he 
has  assured  himself  a competency,  and  is  in  a position  to  relinquish 
business  for  his  old  pursuits,  the  routine  of  work  has  so  strong  a 
hold  upon  him  that  there  is  no  question  of  any  change  of  occupa- 
tion. 


I 12 


Conation  and  Attention 


Now  as  we  have  found  that  certain  local  excitations 
within  the  nervous  system  are  attended  by  a specific  con- 
scious process, — sensation;  and  that  the  change  of  equi- 
librium brought  about  in  the  nervous  system  as  a whole  by 
the  action  of  stimuli  is  also  attended  by  a specific  conscious 
process,  — affection  ; we  might  naturally  suppose  that  there 
would  be  a specific  conscious  process,  a third  elementary 
process,  alongside  of  sensation  and  affection,  correspond- 
ing to  the  bias  or  leaning  of  the  nervous  system.  -But  intro- 
spection affords  no  confirmation  of  this  view.  It  does  not 
reveal  any  trace  of  a third  conscious  element,  accompany- 
ing the  bodily  tendency,  the  ‘set’  of  the  nervous  system 
for  the  discharge  of  particular  functions. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  as  the 
condition  of  mental  ‘ constitution,’  bodily  tendencies  are  of 
great  importance  for  psychology.  They  mark  out  the  paths, 
so  to  speak,  which  mental  processes  in  general  are  to  follow. 
No  specific  mental  process  is  due  to  them,  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  specific  sensation  of  red  is  due  to  a special  ex- 
citation of  retina  and  visual  brain  centre ; but  they  cut  the 
channels  in  which  the  stream  of  conscious  processes  flows, 
and  consequently  determine  the  direction  which  the  stream 
is  to  take. 

That  minds  differ,  although  the  processes  which  make  them  up 
are  of  the  same  nature,  is  obvious.  Differences  of  mental  consti- 
tution show  themselves  in  differences  of  character,  temperament, 
ability,  preferred  employment,  etc.  One  man  is  ‘ steady,’  another 
‘ unreliable  ’ ; one  is  ‘ emotional,’  another  ‘ phlegmatic  ’ ; one  ‘ tal- 
ented,’ another  ‘ stupid  ’ ; one  devoted  to  music,  another  equally 
enamoured  of  the  study  of  medicine. 

Many  proverbial  expressions  bear  witness  to  the  same  fact. 
“The  poet  is  born,  not  made”  and  “The  child  is  father  of  the 
man  ” point  to  the  existence  and  persistence  of  a peculiar  mental 


§ 35-  Bodily  Tendency  and  Mental  Constitution  113 

constitution,  — corresponding,  in  the  one  case,  to  a natural  ten- 
dency, and  in  the  other  to  natural  tendencies  as  modified  by  edu- 
cation, i.e.,  by  acquired  tendencies.  When  we  see  that  a man  is 
unfitted  by  character,  temperament,  etc.,  for  his  post,  we  say  that 
he  is  “ a square  peg  in  a round  hole  ” ; and  by  his  ‘ squareness  ’ 
we  mean  his  mental  constitution,  the  mould  of  his  character  or  the 
bent  of  his  temperament.  The  prayer  “ Lead  us  not  into  tempta- 
tion ” is  an  admission  that  conscious  processes  run  in  certain  chan- 
nels more  easily  than  in  other  channels,  i.e.,  in  biological  language, 
that  the  organism  leans  in  a certain  direction,  is  more  impression- 
able by  certain  stimuli  than  by  others. 

We  represented  mind,  in  Fig.  1,  as  a complex  of  processes, 
increasing  in  complication  from  childhood  to  manhood,  and  de- 
creasing again  from  middle  life  to  old  age.  We  now  see  that, 
if  the  diagram  is  to  be  accurate,  it  must  be  drawn  differently  for 
every  individual  mind.  Bodily  tendency  conditions  the  shape  of 
the  diagram.  Mind  is  a stream  of  processes  flowing  between 
banks,  through  channels  which  are  now  deep-cut  and  now  shallow, 
which  lead  now  in  this  direction  and  now  in  that,  which  now  incline 
easily  downwards  and  now  run  at  the  same  level.  Just  as  the 
course  of  a river  is  determined  by  the  nature  of  the  country 
through  which  it  passes,  so  the  course  or  trend  of  mind  is  deter- 
mined by  the  nature  of  the  nervous  system,  by  the  predominance 
of  the  one  or  the  other  biological  tendency. 

To  establish  the  fact  of  differences  of  mental  constitu- 
tion in  a scientific  way,  we  must  observe  our  neighbours’ 
minds  in  the  light  of  an  introspective  analysis  of  our  own. 
Two  methods  are  open  to  us  here.  (1)  We  may  compare 
the  statements  of  other  psychologists  with  our  own  intro- 
spective results.  Then  we  find,  perhaps,  that  one,  wishing 
to  recall  the  French  equivalent  of  an  English  word,  tries 
to  remember  how  it  looks,  and  another  how  it  sounds ; that 
the  memory  of  one  is  * mechanical,’  a storehouse  of  sepa- 
rate facts,  while  that  of  another  is  ‘ logical,’  the  facts  re- 


1 


Conation  and  Attention 


i. 14 

membered  falling  into  connection  and  taking  their  places 
in  a coherent  and  unified  system  of  knowledge ; that  one 
reaches  his  conclusions  ‘inductively,’  gathering  together  a 
collection  of  instances,  and  seeking  to  find  a single  expla- 
nation for  them  all,  while  another  argues  ‘ deductively,’ 
jumping  at  once  from  a few  instances  to  a general  hy- 
pothesis, and  then  testing  this  by  applying  it  to  other 
instances ; and  so  on.  (2)  Or  we  may  construct  our 
neighbour’s  consciousness  from  his  actions,  reasoning  by 
analogy  that  as  our  mental  processes  are  of  certain  kinds 
when  we  act  in  a certain  way,  his  mental  processes  must 
be  of  this  or  that  kind,  when  he  acts  in  this  or  that  man- 
ner. And  we  are  forced  to  the  conclusion,  here  as  before, 
that  the  course  or  trend  of  conscious  processes  differs  very 
considerably  in  different  individuals.  Similar  stimuli  have 
widely  different  effects the  series  of  mental  processes 
set  up  by  them,  — so  far  as  it  can  be  inferred  from  actions, 
— may  be  altogether  dissimilar.  The  beetle  crossing  your 
path  is  intensely  interesting  to  you,  if  you  are  an  entomolo- 
gist, but  may  go  unheeded,  or  even  be  an  object  of  repug- 
nance, if  you  are  not.  A blow  which  ‘ crushes  ’ one  man 
only  serves  to  ‘ bring  out  ’ the  character  of  another,  who 
‘rises  to  the  occasion.’ 

From  observations  of  this  kind  we  are  led  to  classify 
minds  under  general  headings.  We  are  helped  in  two 
ways : we  are  constantly  in  the  company  of  other  people, 
and  thus  continually  have  thrust  upon  our  notice  the  re- 
semblances and  differences  which  obtain  between  them 
and  ourselves ; and  we  are  sorted  out,  during  childhood, 
into  classes  which  show  how  our  mental  constitution  is 
regarded  by  parents  and  teachers, — into  ‘good’  and 
‘naughty,’  ‘scatter-brained’  and  ‘plodding,’  ‘ingenious’ 


§ 35-  Bodily  Tendency  and  Mental  Constitution  1 1 5 

and  ‘awkward.’  So  we  come  to  think  of  minds  as  repre- 
senting different  types : we  classify  our  neighbours  and 
ourselves  as  dull  or  clever,  sanguine  or  melancholy,  ready- 
witted  or  absent-minded,  and  so  on.  Although  our  bodily 
tendencies  never  become  conscious, — introspection  can- 
not discover  any  specific  tendency-process,  — yet  we  find 
mental  phenomena  which  may  legitimately  be  brought  into 
connection  with  those  undisputed  biological  facts  to  which 
the  name  of  ‘ tendencies  ’ is  given.  In  this  way  we  are 
able,  as  psychologists,  to  assert  the  existence  of  tendencies, 
despite  the  impossibility  of  any  direct  experience  of  them. 

To  emphasise  still  further  the  fact  that  the  tendency  does  not 
correspond  to  a specific  conscious  process,  and  that  therefore  we 
have  no  direct  knowledge  of  it,  let  us  suppose  that  there  were  but 
one  man  in  the  world,  and  he  an  enthusiastic  botanist.  He  would 
never  know  that  he  had  a leaning  towards  the  study  of  plants. 
There  would  be  no  opportunity  for  a comparison  of  his  pursuits 
with  those  of  other  men,  which  would  teach  him  that  ‘ botanic 
consciousness  ’ and  ‘ human  consciousness  ’ are  not  identical  ex- 
pressions. He  could  describe,  by  introspection,  all  his  sensations 
and  affections  j but  the  existence  of  tendency  would  escape  his 
notice  altogether,  because  introspection  would  not  reveal  it. 

In  social  life,  on  the  other  hand,  where  we  can  compare  mind 
with  mind,  the  manifestations  of  tendency  are  too  evident  to  be 
overlooked.  We  know  what  various  interests  different,  people 
have  ; we  know  what  radically  different  opinions  two  sane  persons, 
the  one  ‘ emotionally  ’ and  the  other  ‘ rationally  ’ minded,  will  draw 
from  the  same  set  of  arguments  ; we  know  the  ‘ professional  atti- 
tude ’ of  the  lawyer  and  physician  and  clergyman  to  the  questions 
of  the  day.  There  are  thus  ample  materials  from  which  the  idea 
of  tendency  may  be  formed,  and  good  reasons  for  its  persistence 
when  it  has  once  taken  shape. 

We  may  summarise  the  results  of  this  Section  in  two 
propositions.  (1)  Tendencies  and  the  causes  of  tenden- 


Conation  and  Attention 


1 16 

cies  are  in  themselves  phenomena  which  belong  exclu- 
sively to  the  domain  of  physiology  and  biology.  There 
is  no  tendency-process  to  be  found  in  consciousness,  co-or- 
dinate with  the  processes  of  sensation  and  affection.  (2) 
But  a comparison  of  minds  enables  us  to  form  an  idea  of 
mental  types  or  constitutions ; and  having  learned  from 
biology  of  the  existence  of  tendencies,  we  are  able  to  point 
to  these  as  the  conditions  of  mental  constitution,  and  thus 
to  account  for  fundamental  differences  between  mind  and 
mind  which  we  could  not  otherwise  have  explained. 

It  should  be  noted  that  the  present  is  a signal  instance  of  the 
way  in  which  one  science  may  render  assistance  to  another  in  the 
solution  of  a difficult  problem.  If  we  had  confined  our  discussion 
to  the  sphere  of  psychology  pure  and  simple,  and  employed  the 
introspective  method  only,  we  should  have  been  obliged  to  give  a 
mere  statement  of  the  facts  of  mental  constitution,  coupled  with 
the  admission  that  we  had  no  explanation  of  them  to  offer.  To 
avoid  this  necessity,  we  have  asked  what  biology  has  to  say  of  the 
influences  exerted  upon  the  organism  by  heredity  and  environ- 
ment. By  thus  putting  the  individual  mind  in  the  perspective  of 
mental  evolution,  we  are  able  to  dispose  of  the  difficulty  in  a satis- 
factory way. 

§ 36.  The  Question  of  a Third  Conscious  Element.  — We 

have  seen  that  the  facts  of  mental  constitution  are  so 
patent  that  they  must  be  recognised  and  accounted  for ; 
but  that  introspection  is,  in  the  nature  of  things,  incapable 
of  furnishing  the  required  explanation.  Let  us  suppose, 
however,  that  a psychologist,  confronted  with  the  facts, 
does  not  think  of  going  to  biology  for  their  reason,  but 
attempts,  in  spite  of  all  difficulties,  to  keep  within  the 
territory  of  psychology  itself.  If  we  follow  out  his  argu- 
ment we  shall  be  able  to  understand  a common  view  of  the 


§ 36-  Question  of  a Third  Conscio7is  Element  1 1 7 

nature  of  mind,  — - a view  different  from  that  which  we 
have  ourselves  adopted  (§3),  but  still  so  widely  prevalent 
among  educated  persons  as  to  seem,  doubtless,  to  many 
readers,  almost  self-evident. 

The  psychologist  of  whom  we  are  thinking  will  argue 
somewhat  as  follows.  “ We  must,  in  every  science,  give 
the  reason  for  what  we  observe.  Now  the  reason  for  a 
sensation  or  an  affection  is  obvious  enough  : it  is  always 
some  observable  change  in  the  outside  world  or  in  con- 
sciousness, — the  presentation  of  some  stimulus  or  the 
arousal  of  some  idea.  But  the  reason  for  mental  constitu- 
tion cannot  be  found  in  the  action  of  stimulus  : the  consti- 
tution is  there,  before  the  stimulus  acts,  — as  is  shown  by 
the  effect  of  the  beetle  upon  the  entomologist.  Neither 
can  it  be  found  in  any  preceding  conscious  processes  : it  is 
the  business  of  mental  constitution  to  decide,  as  it  were, 
what  our  mental  processes  are  to  be,  — entomological  ideas 
or  the  feeling  of  disgust.  No  ! to  give  a reason  for  the 
direction  or  trend  of  consciousness  as  a whole,  we  must 
assume  the  existence  of  a permanent  mind  behind  the 
stream  of  conscious  processes.  The  manifestations  of 
mental  type  are  obvious ; but  we  cannot  explain  them  in 
terms  of  physical  or  mental  process.  Hence  we  must 
infer  that  consciousness  is  something  active  and  directive, 
able  to  shape  and  mould  its  own  processes,  and  to  origi- 
nate lines  of  thought  or  feeling.” 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  belief  in  the  activity  or 
spontaneity  of  mind  is  almost  universal ; though  the  fact 
that  the  activity  is,  in  the  first  place,  not  directly  experi- 
enced as  a conscious  process,  but  inferred  from  the  run 
or  trend  of  conscious  processes  in  general,  is  less  univer- 
sally recognised.  And  the  belief  is  by  no  means  confined 


1 1 8 Conation  and  Attention 

to  popular  thinking ; it  has  had  a marked  influence  upon 
psychology. 

Since  our  supposed  psychologist  has  gone  beyond  introspection, 
and  has  drawn  inferences  from  the  phenomena  of  consciousness  to 
the  existence  of  something  behind  consciousness  which  introspec- 
tion does  not  reveal,  he  has  been  forced,  in  spite  of  his  resolve,  to 
leave  the  ground  of  psychology  proper  and  to  appeal  for  help  to 
some  science  which  is  not  psychology.  The  science  to  which 
he  appeals  is  metaphysics  (§  3) ; our  own  appeal  was  made  to 
biology. 

Metaphysics  is  the  science  which  unifies  and  harmonises  the 
principles  and  laws  of  all  the  other  sciences.  It  follows  from  this 
that  the  discussions  of  metaphysics  are  always  couched  in  general 
and  abstract  terms ; and  that  it  is  wrong  to  appeal  to  it  for  an  ex- 
planation of  a single  concrete  fact.  Just  as,  within  the  limits  of 
psychology,  we  should  not  explain  the  appearance  of  a particular 
conscious  process  — an  emotion  of  hope,  e.g.  — by  appealing  to 
mental  constitution,  and  saying  that  the  subject  of  the  emotion 
was  naturally  sanguine,  but  should  look  round  for  the  special  con- 
ditions of  this  particular  hope ; so,  within  the  limits  of  science  at 
large,  we  may  not  explain  the  appearance  of  a single  phenomenon 
— the  phenomenon  of  mental  constitution  — by  appealing  to  meta- 
physics. Mental  constitution  is  one  particular  scientific  fact,  and 
the  emotion  of  hope  is  another.  Both  must  be  scientifically  ex- 
plained, not  metaphysically  : both  must  be  explained,  that  is,  by 
a statement,  in  the  terms  of  some  special  science,  of  the  conditions 
under  which  they  appear.1 

Nevertheless,  the  metaphysical  view  is  the  common  view.  And 
the  conviction  of  mankind  at  large,  and  its  embodiment  in  cur- 
rent modes  of  expression,  are  usually  strong  enough  to  dominate 
our  thought  and  language  except  on  occasions  of  scientific  investi- 
gation and  discussion.  The  phrases  which  every  one  naturally 

1 Whether  or  not  the  inference  of  mental  activity  is  justifiable  from  the  total 
stint  of  mental  phenomena  is  a question  which  we  can  attempt  to  answer  only 
at  the  conclusion  of  our  examination  of  mind.  We  shall  recur  to  it,  therefore, 
in  our  final  chapter  (Ch.  XV). 


§ 36.  Question  of  a Thi7'd  Conscious  Element  119 

uses  in  describing  the  phenomena  of  attention  give  a striking 
illustration  of  this  fact.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  speak  of  attention 
without  using  such  expressions  as  : “I  turn  my  attention  to,”  or 
“I  direct  my  attention  upon,”  — expressions  which,  if  understood 
literally,  would  make  the  ‘ I ’ a source  of  spontaneous  activity,  and 
the  ‘ attention  ’ a sort  of  lantern  which  the  ‘ I ’ holds  in  its  hands. 

Let  us  now  follow  the  argument  of  our  imaginary  psy- 
chologist a little  farther.  “I  am  convinced,”  he  may  go  on, 
“ that  there  is  a permanent  mind  behind  the  various  types 
of  mind,  behind  the  varying  manifestations  of  mind  in 
conscious  processes  ; and  I am  convinced  that  this  mind 
is  active  and  directive.  Surely,  this  permanent  and  active 
mind  must  manifest  its  activity  in  some  specific  conscious 
process  ? Surely,  there  must  be  something  other  than  sen- 
sations and  affections  to  be  found  in  mental  experience  ? 
Introspection  must  decide : and  introspection  does  decide 
— in  the  affirmative.  I find  two  conscious  processes 
which  give  me  a direct  experience  of  activity  or  sponta- 
neity : conation  and  attention.  My  original  inference,  then, 
was  plainly  correct ; it  is  confirmed  by  introspection.  Not 
only  must  we  infer  from  the  facts  of  mind  that  mind  is 
active;  we  have  a direct  experience  of  mental  activity  in 
certain  well-marked  conscious  processes.” 

It  is  here  that  the  belief  in  mental  spontaneity  begins  to 
exert  an  influence  upon  scientific  psychology.  The  argu- 
ment has  taken  on  a new  character : the  venue  is  changed. 
Mental  activity  is  no  longer  a metaphysical  inference  from 
the  facts  of  mind ; it  is  announced  as  an  item  of  mental 
experience.  And  it  thus  becomes  the  business  of  the  psy- 
chologist carefully  to  examine  the  processes  which  are 
said  to  bear  witness  to  its  reality ; for  the  acceptance  or 
rejection  of  a third  elementary  conscious  process  — an 


120 


Conation  and  Attention 


activity-process  — is  no  light  matter.  The  entire  course 
of  our  subsequent  psychological  analysis,  the  fashion  of 
our  whole  psychological  system,  will  depend  upon  the 
decision  to  which  our  present  enquiry  leads. 

It  is  important  that  the  difference  between  inferred  activity 
(metaphysical)  and  experienced  activity  (psychological)  should 
be  fully  understood.  We  have  refused  to  infer  activity  from  the 
facts  of  mental  constitution,  because  we  thought  it  better,  on  prin- 
ciple, to  appeal  to  other  special  sciences  before  we  asked  assist- 
ance from  metaphysics,  and  because  biology  answered  our  appeal, 
and  enabled  us  to  give  a reasonable  explanation  of  the  phenomena. 
But  we  cannot  refuse  to  accept  the  verdict  of  introspection,  if 
introspection  says  that  there  is  a mental  process  of  an  ‘active’ 
quality,  a mental  experience  which  cannot  be  described  except  by 
the  term  ‘ activity  ’ or  ‘ spontaneity.’  No  sensation  or  affection 
has  this  ‘ active  ’ quality. 

And,  physiologically,  the  existence  of  such  a process  is  quite 
conceivable.  Tendency  may  ‘ set  ’ the  cortex  in  a certain  way, 
without  arousing  any  conscious  process  ; just  as  we  ‘ set  ’ an  alarum- 
clock,  without  causing  the  bell  to  sound.  But  when  the  catch  is 
released,  the  bell  rings  ; and  when  the  ‘ set  ’ of  the  cortex  is  released, 
‘touched  off’  in  some  way  or  other,  a new  mental  process  may 
be  originated.  The  alleged  active  quality  does  not  correspond  to 
tendency,  but  to  the  ‘touch  off’  of  tendency;  not  to  the  ‘set’ 
of  the  brain,  but  to  the  release  of  that  set.  It  is  not  the  fact  of 
mental  constitution  which  is  becoming  conscious  when  the  new 
quality  appears,  but  rather  some  specific  realisation  of  mental  con- 
stitution, say,  the  rush  of  an  idea,  aroused  by  external  stimulus, 
into  the  channel  which  tendency  has  dug  for  it. 

Our  rejection  of  the  activity-inference,  then,  need  not  impair 
our  impartiality  with  regard  to  the  suggested  activity-experience. 
If  we  find  this,  we  can  very  well  give  it  a place,  without  changing 
our  definition  of  mind  and  consciousness. 

§ 37.  Conation. — ‘Conation’  is  the  general  name  given 
to  the  experience  of  effort  or  endeavour,  in  whatever  con- 


§37-  Conation 


121 


nection  it  occurs.  The  ‘ conative  consciousness  ’ is  a con- 
sciousness which  consists  principally,  or  at  least  very 
noticeably,  of  the  experience  of  effort.  What  we  have 
to  do,  then,  is  to  collect  instances  of  this  experience,  and 
to  assure  ourselves,  by  repeated  analysis  and  reconstruc- 
tion (§  4),  that  it  does  or  does  not  contain  some  specific 
conscious  process  other  than  sensation  and  affection. 

The  reason  that  the  psychologist,  who  has  inferred  mental 
activity  from  the  facts  of  mental  constitution,  points  to  the  ex- 
perience of  effort  as  a confirmation  of  his  inference,  is  this.  Effort 
is  always  involved,  to  some  extent,  in  our  experience  of  bodily 
exertion,  continued  bodily  movement.  Now  the  causes  of  bodily 
movement  are  not  seldom  beyond  the  reach  of  introspection  : 
while  in  many  cases  we  can  trace,  by  careful  introspection,  the 
reason  for  a movement,  there  are  many  other  cases  in  which  we 
cannot.  We  should  ourselves  explain  the  facts  by  saying  that 
many  of  the  unconscious  bodily  tendencies  are  tendencies  to 
movement,  and  that  therefore  the  reasons  for  certain  move- 
ments must  be  asked  from  biology  and  not  from  psychology. 
Our  imagined  psychologist  has  just  the  same  facts  before  him 
that  we  have,  and  is  just  as  little  able  as  we  are  to  explain 
them  by  appeal  to  introspection.  But  he  refuses  to  ask  biology 
to  assist  him  in  the  solution  of  a psychological  problem  ; and  there- 
fore sees  in  movement,  not  a change  in  the  organism  due  to  physi- 
cal causes,  but  an  expression  of  spontaneous  activity ; and  in  the 
conscious  experience  of  effort  which  accompanies  movement,  not 
a complex  of  sensations  and  affection,  but  a specific  mental  process, 
the  quality  of  which  corresponds  to  that  spontaneous  activity. 

Or  we  may  put  the  reason  in  another  way.  We  speak  not  of 
the  movements  of  our  fellow-men,  but  of  their  1 actions.’  Men- 
tal ‘ activity  ’ is  regarded  as  precisely  like  the  ‘ activity  ’ which  the 
living  human  organism  shows  in  its  actions.  Hence  it  is  natural 
that  the  experience  which  accompanies  action  should  be  the  first 
experience  examined  by  those  who  expect  to  find  evidence  of 
mental  activity  in  some  definite  conscious  process. 


122 


Conation  and  Attention 


The  experience  of  effort  occurs  in  many  different  con- 
nections. It  always  accompanies  violent  or  long-continued 
bodily  movement,  the  movements,  e.g.,  of  fencing  or  of 
dumb-bell  exercises.  It  is  contained  in  the  experience 
of  resistance,  as  when  we  hold  a door  against  some  one 
who  is  trying  to  force  his  way  into  the  room,  or  ‘bear 
up’  against  some  ‘pressing’  care.  It  appears  also  in  the 
states  of  mind  (the  ‘consciousnesses’)  which  we  call  im- 
pulse, wish,  desire,  longing,  aspiration ; and  in  the  experi- 
ences of  ‘ trying  to  remember,’  ‘ trying  to  make  up  one’s 
mind,’  etc.  All  these  cases,  then,  must  be  introspectively 
examined. 

The  first  thing  which  introspection  reveals  is  that  effort 
is,  like  idea,  a compound  conscious  process.  Whether  it 
contains  a specific  quality  — a new  conscious  element  — or 
not,  it  certainly  comprises  sensations  and  affection.  The 
affection  may  be  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness,  accord- 
ing to  the  degree  or  amount  of  effort  involved  in  the 
particular  experience.  The  sensations  are  sensations  of 
strain  (tendinous),  and  the  sensations  which  accompany 
movement  (sensations  of  cutaneous  and  articular  pressure, 
and  of  muscular  contraction). 

No  one  will  doubt  that  these  sensations  are  present  in  the  first 
three  instances  given  of  effort : fencing,  dumb-bell  exercise,  hold- 
ing a door.  Their  presence  in  the  other  experiences  mentioned 
may  seem  to  be  less  clear. 

We  must  remember,  however,  that  sensations  may  be  aroused 
centrally  (remembered  or  imagined)  as  well  as  peripherally  (by 
the  action  of  stimulus);  and  that  they  are  just  as  much  sensations 
in  the  former  case  as  in  the  latter  (§  7).  If,  then,  an  actual 
movement  and  actual  strain  sensations  can  make  up  the  experi- 
ence of  effort,  so  can  also  remembered  or  imagined  movement 
and  remembered  or  imagined  strain  sensations.  Let  the  reader 


§37-  Conation 


123 


analyse  his  consciousness  when  next  he  thinks  : “ I do  wish  it  was 
dinner-time  ! ” He  will  find  that  it  contains  a pleasantness,  con- 
nected with  the  idea  of  dinner,  and  various  ideas  of  himself  going 
to  his  dinner,  i.e.,  making  some  bodily  exertion.  If  the  wish  is 
very  strong,  however,  he  will  find  more  than  this  : there  will  be 
real  beginnings  of  movement  in  his  body,  a real  beginning  of  ris- 
ing from  the  chair,  or  a turn  to  the  wash-stand,  or  a passing  of 
the  hand  over  the  hair,  — the  imagined  movements  and  imagined 
sensations  will  be  mixed  with  actual  movements  and  actual  sensa- 
tions aroused  by  them.  Or  again  : suppose  that  one  were  paint- 
ing a picture  to  illustrate  the  phrase  : “ I do  long  to  go  to  Italy  ! ” 
One  would  paint  a figure  seated  in  a chair,  leaning  forward  with 
clasped  hands,  the  eyes  eagerly  and  intently  fixed.  That  is,  one 
would  paint  with  the  assurance  that  the  speaker  would  be  seeing 
Italy  ‘in  the  mind’s  eye,’  picturing  the  journey,  and — more  than 
that  — actually  starting  to  go,  i.e.,  actually  beginning  the  neces- 
sary movements.  Here,  too,  we  have  imagined  movement,  cen- 
tral sensations  of  strain  and  pressure,  mixed  with  actual  sensations 
from  muscle  and  tendon  and  joint.  The  forward  inclination  of 
the  body  and  the  eagerness  of  the  eyes  show  that  the  ideas  of  the 
moment  are  pleasant.  Once  more  : let  the  reader  introspect 
when  next  he  says  : “ If  I only  could  remember  that  name  ! ” 
He  will  find  that  his  whole  body  has  been  braced,  during  the 
attempt  to  remember ; that  he  has  been  frowning  or  wrinkling  the 
forehead;  that  his  eyes  have  wandered  all  round  the  room;  per- 
haps, that  he  has  from  time  to  time  held  his  breath  and  closed  jhis 
eyes,  to  avoid  any  disturbance  from  outside.  Along  with  all  this 
has  gone  the  unpleasant  affection  which  comes  with  the  feeling 
that  he  is  baffled. 

In  every  instance,  then,  we  find  in  effort  an  affective  quality 
and  a complex  of  organic  sensations,  — largely,  sensations  of  ten- 
dinous strain. 

But,  further,  introspective  analysis  stops  short  at  the 
discovery  of  these  ingredients  of  effort.  When  we  have 
taken  the  sensations  and  affection  from  the  complex 
experience,  there  is  nothing  left : these  are  the  only  pro- 


124 


Conation  and  Attention 


cesses  which  introspection  can  find  in  it.  And  if  we  test 
analysis  by  synthesis,  and  try  to  reconstruct  effort  from 
organic  sensations  and  affection,  we  are  led  to  the  same 
result ; these  components  are  enough  to  give  us  the 
effort  experience.  Hence  we  have  no  alternative  but  to 
conclude  that  effort  furnishes  no  evidence  of  a third 
conscious  element,  the  supposed  elementary  process  of 
activity. 

It  cannot  be  too  strongly  urged  that  our  introspection  must  be 
absolutely  impartial,  and  extremely  careful.  Since  the  supposed 
activity-process  is,  by  hypothesis,  neither  sensation  nor  affection, 
and  since  the  rules  which  we  possess  for  the  use  of  introspection 
apply  only  to  the  examination  of  those  two  processes,  we  must 
employ  the  method  in  both  of  its  possible  forms  : it  may  be  that 
the  activity-process  would  more  nearly  resemble  sensation,  or  it 
may  be  that  it  would  be  more  like  an  affection.  When  we  inves- 
tigate effort  as  if  it  were  sensation  (§  9),  we  come  upon  the  com- 
plex of  organic  sensations  referred  to  in  the  text ; when  we 
investigate  it  as  if  it  were  affection  (§  33),  we  come  upon  the 
affective  quality  which  accompanies  those  sensations.  Introspec- 
tion gives  no  hint  of  any  further  process. 

Introspection  must  decide  the  matter  : it  is  the  final  court  of 
appeal.  But  it  is  reassuring  to  find  that  the  result  of  introspec- 
tion is  supported  by  outside  evidence.  This  is  of  two  kinds. 
(1)  Those  who  believe  in  the  existence  of  a specific  activity-pro- 
cess often  allude  to  it  as  a 1 sensation  of  effort  ’ or  ‘ feeling  of 
activity.’  The  expressions  show  that,  even  in  their  opinion,  the 
experience  of  effort  is  a process  which  resembles  the  processes  of 
sensation  and  affection.  Why  should  it  not  be  made  up  of  these 
processes?  (2)  Intense  effort  is  unpleasant,  moderate  effort 
pleasant,  and  minimal  effort  indifferent.  This  is  just  what  we 
should  expect  if  effort  were  composed  of  sensations  : intense 
strain-sensations  arise  from  excessive  stimulation,  and  that  is 
unpleasant ; moderately  strong  sensations  from  moderate  stimula- 
tion, which  is  exhilarating  and  pleasant,  etc.  (§  34).  Here  is 


§ 38.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Attention  125 

evidence,  from  the  general  behaviour  of  sensations  and  affection, 
that  effort  is  made  up  of  those  two  processes. 

§ 38.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Attention.  — Effort  is, 
however,  not  the  only  fact  of  mental  experience  which 
has  been  brought  forward  in  support  of  the  view  that  we 
have  a specific  conscious  process  corresponding  to  mental 
activity  and  spontaneity.  This  specific  activity-process, 
which  we  have  failed  to  discover  in  conation,  is  said  to  be 
present  in  attention,  to  be  a constituent  of  the  attentive 
consciousness.  And  at  first  sight  the  statement  seems 
to  be  well  founded.  If  ever  we  act  spontaneously,  it  is 
surely  when  we  lay  down  a novel  to  turn  our  attention 
to  work;  if  ever  we  select  for  ourselves,  it  is  when  we 
ignore  the  whole  crowd  of  impressions  which  our  sense- 
organs  are  receiving,  to  attend  to  some  one  idea.  In  both 
these  cases  the  activity-process  must  be  present,  if  it  exist 
at  all.  We  must  therefore  examine  attention,  if  possible, 
even  more  carefully  than  we  have  examined  conation. 
If  we  cannot  discover  the  activity  experience  here,  we 
shall  not  discover  it  anywhere : attention  is  the  only 
remaining  fact  to  which  the  champions  of  activity  can 
appeal,  and  it  is  a fact  which,  on  the  face  of  it,  appears  to 
furnish  a strong  confirmation  of  their  view. 

We  have  more  than  once  had  occasion  to  remark  that  the  idea 
to  which  we  attend  is  made  clearer,  and  lasts  longer  than  other 
ideas.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  how  life  could  go  on,  if  there 
were  no  such  thing  as  attention.  We  should  be  at  the  mercy 
of  every  stimulus,  internal  or  external,  which  was  strong  enough 
to  arouse  a conscious  process ; sustained  thought  and  continued 
occupation  would  be  impossible ; consciousness  would  be  a mixed 
medley  of  sensations  and  affections,  strung  together  as  the  acci- 
dents of  stimulation  determined.  The  reality  is  very  different. 


126 


Conation  and  Attention 


As  I lean  back  in  my  chair  to  think  out  a psychological  problem, 
I am  subject  to  all  sorts  of  sensory  stimuli : the  temperature  of 
the  room,  the  pressure  of  my  clothes,  the  sight  of  various  pieces 
of  furniture,  sounds  from  house  and  street,  scents  coming  from 
carpet  and  wood-work,  or  borne  in  through  the  open  window,  etc. 
I could  easily  lapse  into  a reminiscent  mood,  letting  these  impres- 
sions suggest  to  me  scenes  from  my  past  life.  I could  easily  give 
the  rein  to  my  imagination,  thinking  of  the  further  business  of  the 
day,  anticipating  some  event  which  is  to  happen  in  the  near  future, 
etc.  But  I am  perfectly  well  able  to  neglect  all  these  distractions, 
and  to  devote  myself  entirely  to  the  one  centrally  aroused  idea, — 
the  idea  of  the  problem  which  awaits  solution. 

Attention  has  two  forms.  It  may  be  what  is  called 
‘ passive  ’ or  ‘ involuntary  ’ attention,  or  it  may  be  ‘ active  ’ 
and  ‘ voluntary  ’ attention.  We  cannot  understand  its  real 
nature  until  we  understand  how  these  two  forms  differ, 
and  what  are  the  reasons  for  their  occurrence. 

(i)  Passive  Attention.  — There  are  many  occasions 
when  we  ‘ cannot  help  ’ attending  to  an  impression,  — 
when  a stimulus  takes  the  attention  by  storm.  A very 
loud  sound  will,  almost  infallibly,  attract  the  attention, 
however  absorbing  the  occupation  of  the  time.  So  with 
movement : the  animal  or  bird  that  crosses  the  landscape, 
the  melody  that  rises  and  falls  to  a steady,  uniform  accom- 
paniment (i.e.,  that  moves,  while  its  accompaniment  is 
stationary),  the  insect  that  crawls  over  our  hand  as  we  lie 
upon  the  grass,  — all  these  constrain  us  to  attend  to  them. 
Interesting  things  catch  the  attention,  whether  their 
interest  come  from  their  pleasantness  or  unpleasant- 
ness : a beautiful  face  arrests  our  eyes,  as  a matter  of 
course,  and  the  newspaper  accounts  of  fires  and  murders 
have  a ‘ morbid  fascination  ’ for  us.  Things  which  fit  in 
with  our  present  train  of  thought  hold  the  attention : if 


§ 38.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Attention  12 7 

we  are  feeling  ourselves  ill  used,  we  notice  a thousand 
little  annoyances  that  we  should  otherwise  have  let  pass 
unnoticed,  — if  we  are  trying  to  prove  a scientific  theory, 
facts  offer  themselves  to  our  attention  whose  significance 
we  should  otherwise  have  missed.  Contrast,  like  move- 
ment, draws  the  attention : the  one  tree  on  a level  plain, 
the  one  civilian’s  dress  among  a mass  of  military  uniforms. 
So  with  strange  things  in  familiar  settings,  and  familiar 
things  in  strange  settings  : a new  picture  upon  our  study 
wall  obtrudes  itself  upon  us,  and  a few  words  of  English, 
heard  amid  a crowd  of  holiday-making  Germans,  force 
our  attention  irresistibly  upon  the  speaker. 

Any  one  of  these  conditions  — contrast  or  movement;  a 
high  intensity,  novel  quality,  etc.,  of  sensation ; the  ‘ in- 
terest ’ attaching  to  an  impression ; a close  relation  of 
the  idea  aroused  by  the  impression  to  the  ideas  forming 
the  consciousness  of  the  moment  — is  able  to  give  a defi- 
nite direction  to  the  attention  ; an  object  which  fulfils  any 
one  of  them  has  the  power  of  attracting  the  attention  to 
itself.  The  attention  is  passive  : we  have  to  attend,  what- 
ever grounds  we  may  have  for  attending  to  something 
else. 

(2)  Active  Attention. — There  are,  however,  many  occa- 
sions when,  so  far  from  the  idea’s  drawing  and  riveting 
our  attention,  it  seems  that  we  are  holding  our  attention 
by  main  force  upon  the  idea.  A problem  in  geometry 
does  not  appeal  to  us  as  a thunder-clap  does.  The 
thunder-clap  takes  unquestioned  possession  of  conscious- 
ness. The  problem  has  only  a divided  claim  upon  the 
attention : there  is  a constant  temptation  to  wander  away 
from  it  and  attend  to  something  else.  Only  gradually,  as 
we  grow  interested  and  ‘absorbed,’  — as  the  active  atten- 


128 


Conation  and  Attention 


tion  becomes  passive,  — - does  it  gain  that  forcible  hold 
over  us  which  the  thunder-clap  has  from  the  moment  of 
its  appearance  in  consciousness.  In  many  of  the  psy- 
chological experiments  which  we  have  described,  the 
object  of  attention  is  something  which  of  itself,  so  far 
from  attracting  notice,  would  be  eminently  fitted  to 
escape  it : an  obscure  organic  sensation,  a minute  quali- 
tative difference,  etc.  Attention  to  such  an  object  is 
active  attention. 

Let  us  see,  now,  how  the  psychologist  who  finds  in 
attention  the  specific  activity-process,  the  experience  of 
mental  spontaneity,  regards  these  two  forms  of  the  atten- 
tive consciousness.  “ Both  kinds  of  attention  are  alike,” 
he  will  tell  us,  “ in  the  fact  that  they  involve  a change  in 
our  ideas.  The  idea  attended  to  becomes  the  clearest, 
strongest  and  most  permanent  idea  in  consciousness.  But 
the  two  kinds  differ  in  this : that  the  change  in  ideas  is 
brought  about  in  the  one  case  (passive  attention)  by  the 
nature  of  the  stimulus,  while  in  the  other  case  (active 
attention)  it  is  the  result  of  the  mind’s  own  activity,  — 
the  mind  is  moulding  its  ideas  for  its  own  purposes. 
There  is  clear  evidence  of  the  difference  in  the  two  ex- 
periences ; in  passive  attention  we  have  the  action  of 
stimulus  and  the  resulting  change  of  ideas,  — and  noth- 
ing more ; in  active  attention  the  mind’s  activity  shows  it- 
self in  a definite  mental  process,  an  active  process,  which 
accompanies  the  change  of  ideas.  Every  one  who  has 
ever  been  actively  attentive  must  be  aware  that  he  has 
experienced  this  definite  process,  of  active  quality.” 

Here,  then,  are  two  facts  for  us  to  examine : the  change 
of  ideas,  and  the  alleged  activity-process,  We  will  take 
the  latter  first, 


§ 38.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Attention  129 

(1)  The  Alleged  Experience  of  Activity , in  Active  Atten- 
tion. — If  we  try  to  ascertain,  by  the  aid  of  introspection, 
the  processes  of  which  the  attentive  consciousness  is  com- 
posed, we  come  at  once  upon  a mass  of  organic  sensa- 
tions combined  with  affection  into  a total  which  very 
nearly  resembles  the  conation  of  the  previous  section. 
There  is  a brace  of  the  whole  body ; the  muscles  are 
tense,  ready  for  movement.  More  especially  is  there 
muscular  tension  in  and  about  the  head.  If  the  object 
of  attention  is  visual,  the  eyes  are  fixed  steadily  upon  it, 
the  eyebrows  lowered,  the  scalp  muscles  tightened,  the 
head  settled  squarely  back  upon  the  shoulders.  If  its 
object  is  auditory,  the  head  is  turned  toward  one  side 
and  thrust  forward,  the  muscles  which  move  the  drum  of 
the  ear  drawn  taut,  etc.  In  both  instances  the  breath 
will  be  held,  from  time  to  time.  All  this  means  a complex 
of  sensations  from  skin,  muscle,  sinew  and  joint,  and  an 
accompanying  affection.  It  means  an  experience  of 
effort ; and  the  only  difference  between  this  effort  and 
the  effort  of  the  last  Section  is  that  this  is,  as  a gen- 
eral rule,  a more  localised  effort,  whose  components  are 
not  spread  over  the  whole  body  in  equal  degree,  but  are 
centred  round  some  particular  sense-organ,  eye  or  ear,  etc. 
It  is  an  effort  which  involves,  not  so  much  an  adjustment 
of  the  whole  muscular  system,  for  locomotion,  as  an  adjust- 
ment of  a special  organ  for  the  best  reception  of  stimulus. 
But  it  is  none  the  less  a form  of  conation,  and  may  rightly 
be  termed  effort. 

And,  again,  introspection  stops  short  at  this  point. 
When  we  have  taken  the  sensations  and  affections  from 
the  ‘activity  experience,’  there  is  nothing  left.  There  is 
no  evidence  of  the  third  conscious  process,  however 

K 


130 


Conation  and  Attention 


often  we  may  analyse  and  reconstruct  in  our  search 
for  it. 

More  than  this  : introspection  does  not  show  any  radical 
difference  between  active  and  passive  attention.  In  pas- 
sive attention,  too,  we  find  muscular  adjustment ; the  turn 
of  the  head,  the  brace  of  the  body,  the  fixing  of  the  gaze, 
etc.  True,  the  effort  is  not  so  great  as  it  is  in  active 
attention ; but  effort  is  undoubtedly  present.  It  is  less, 
because  there  is  only  one  idea  to  be  attended  to,  whereas 
in  active  attention  several  ideas  are  claimants  for  the 
attention. 

To  sum  up  : There  is  only  one  attention,  not  two.  The  differ- 
ences between  passive  and  active  attention  are  differences  of 
‘ degree  ’ (; number  of  ideas,  amount  of  effort) , not  of  ‘ kind.’  The 
terms  ‘ passive  ’ and  ‘ active  ’ are  misnomers.  In  passive  attention, 
one  idea  takes  unresisted  possession  of  consciousness ; in  active 
attention,  there  is  a conflict  of  ideas  for  the  favours  of  the  atten- 
tion. In  the  latter  case,  the  experience  of  effort  is  pronounced 
and  well  marked ; in  the  former  it  is  present,  but  less  strong. 
These  are  the  only  differences  between  the  two  forms  of  attention. 

(1)  Passive  Attention. — -The  reasons  why  certain  things  or 
attributes  of  things  compel  the  attention,  while  others  are  left  un- 
noticed, are,  in  the  last  resort,  biological  reasons.  Some  of  them 
are  of  a general  nature,  applying  to  all  living  organisms  alike.  The 
animal  which  is  to  survive  must  attend  to  movement,  contrast, 
very  intensive  impressions,  etc.  Hence  we  all  attend  to  these ; 
attention  to  them  is  ingrained  in  our  nervous  constitution.  It  is  a 
more  special  reason,  of  course,  which  accounts  for  the  entomolo- 
gist’s attention  to  the  beetle.  Here  we  have  a particular  animal 
with  particular  tendencies ; tendencies  in  the  first  place  natural, 
and  now  confirmed  by  education  and  habit. 

(2)  Active  Attention. — The  reasons  for  the  phenomena  of 
active  attention  are  also,  in  the  last  resort,  biological.  As  soon  as 
an  organism  comes  to  have  a system  of  sense-organs,  each  with  its 


§38-  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Attention  1 3 1 


peculiar  attachment  to  the  central  nervous  system,  there  must 
necessarily  be  times  when  its  attention  is  called  simultaneously  by 
two  different  stimuli,  — say,  by  a visual  movement  in  front  of  it, 
and  by  a loud  sound  at  its  side.  On  the  occurrence  of  this  two- 
fold stimulation,  the  attention  will  travel  in  quick  succession  from 
source  of  movement  to  source  of  sound,  and  vice  versa.  (Whether 
it  go  first  to  the  one  or  the  other  will  depend  upon  circumstances, 
— upon  the  organism’s  previous  experience,  upon  the  intensity  of 
the  affection  attaching  to  the  two  stimuli,  etc.)  The  effort  must 
plainly  be  greater  than  in  the  case  of  attention  to  either  stimulus 
alone ; there  is  more  bodily  movement,  adjustment  of  organs,  etc., 
required. 

The  more  complex  the  organism  becomes,  the  more  frequently 
must  it  happen  that  stimuli  are  simultaneously  presented,  which 
cannot  be  attended  to  in  this  see-saw  way,  though  both  have 
strong  claims  upon  the  attention.  Suppose,  e.g.,  that  I am  sitting 
in  my  room,  preparing  for  to-morrow’s  examination,  and  that  I 
hear  an  alarm  of  fire  in  a neighbouring  street.  I cannot  run  from 
work  to  window,  and  from  window  to  work,  in  quick  succession  ; 
if  the  work  is  to  be  done,  the  attention  to  it  must  be  sustained. 
In  a case  like  this,  one  claimant  must  give  way  to  the  other  ; there 
is  a real  conflict.  The  cortex  is  ‘ set  ’ in  one  part  for  work  ; and 
this  setting  is  reinforced  by  a large  number  of  excitations, — the 
processes  corresponding  to  ideas  of  my  examination  mark,  the  con- 
sequences of  failure,  etc.  The  cortex  is  ‘ set  ’ in  another  part  for 
looking  at  the  fire  ; and  this  setting  is  reinforced  by  other  excita- 
tions,— the  processes  corresponding  to  the  ideas  of  a run  in  the 
fresh  air,  an  exciting  scene,  the  meeting  with  friends,  etc.  Which 
side  wins  depends  upon  the  strength  of  the  tendencies  and  of  their 
temporary  auxiliaries.  Again,  the  effort  experience  must  plainly 
be  more  distinct  than  in  the  case  of  attention  to  either  stimulus 
alone. 

Additional  ground  for  thinking  that  there  is  no  radical  differ- 
ence between  passive  and  active  attention  is  to  be  found  in  the 
fact  that  what  begins  as  active  attention  may  quite  well  end  as 
passive.  If  we  once  ‘ settle  down  ’ to  our  work,  we  may  grow 
so  ‘ sunk  ’ and  ‘ absorbed  ’ in  it  that  the  fire-bell  passes  unnoticed. 


132 


Conation  and  Attention 


This  fact  can  hardly  be  explained  by  those  who  assume  the  pres- 
ence of  the  activity-process  in  active  attention ; for  why  should 
that  process  disappear,  as  attention  is  continued  ? 

It  may  be  remarked  here  that  the  reduction  of  active  to  passive 
attention  is  the  condition  of  all  thorough  intellectual  work.  The 
passive  attention  of  the  animal  or  the  child  is  the  first  stage  of 
attentional  development.  Then  comes  the  active  attention,  dur- 
ing which  the  mind  is  held  by  a certain  stimulus,  but  held  in  face 
of  opposition  from  other  stimuli.  Finally,  this  stimulus  gains  an 
unquestioned  ascendency  over  its  rivals,  and  the  attention  is  once 
more  passive.  The  stage  of  active  attention  is  itself  a stage  of 
transition,  of  conflict,  of  waste  of  mental  energy ; but  it  is  the 
necessary  preliminary  to  a stage  of  achievement. 

(2)  The  Change  of  Ideas  in  Attention.  — Whenever  we 
attend  to  an  idea,  certain  changes  are  brought  about  in 
that  idea  and  in  the  other  ideas  of  the  time,  (a)  The 
idea  attended  to  becomes  clearer  and  more  distinct.  If  I 
am  listening  to  a four-part  chorus,  and  suddenly  give  my 
full  attention  to  the  tenors,  the  tenor  part  stands  out  dis- 
tinctly from  the  whole  mass  of  sound.  It  does  not  become 
stronger,  louder ; but  its  tone  qualities  are  detached  from 
the  tone  qualities  of  the  other  parts,  (b)  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, the  idea  attended  to  does  increase  in  intensity.  A 
very  faint  light  grows  noticeably  brighter,  as  we  attend  to 
it ; a very  faint  sound,  noticeably  louder,  (e)  The  other 
ideas  of  which  consciousness  is  composed  are  rendered 
less  distinct  and,  apparently,  weaker  than  they  previously 
were.  As  we  listen  to  the  tenor  part,  the  three  other 
parts  blur,  and  fade  out. 

The  activity-theory  explained  these  three  facts  as  the  effects  of 
mental  activity ; the  mind,  of  its  own  accord,  assisted  some  ideas 
and  repressed  others.  We  have  been  unable  to  find  an  activity- 
process,  and  have  accounted  for  the  manifestations  of  attention  in 


§ 38-  TJic  Nature  and  Forms  of  Attention  133 

general  by  emphasising  the  natural  ‘selectiveness’  (§  35)  of  the 
nervous  system,  the  presence  of  organic  tendencies.  We  have 
now  to  ask  for  the  special  physiological  conditions  of  these  three 
manifestations  of  attention.  They  appear  both  in  passive  and 
active  attention. 

Physiologists  have  discovered  that  one  nerve-cell  can  influence 
another  in  two  different  ways.  It  can  inhibit  or  check  the  pro- 
cesses going  on  in  the  other,  or  it  can  facilitate  or  reinforce  them. 
We  do  not  know  precisely  how  these  influences  are  exerted  ; but 
there  can  be  no  question  that  they  exist.  During  attention,  both 
of  them  appear  to  be  at  work.  There  is  facilitation  or  reinforce- 
ment of  cerebral  function  on  the  one  hand  (the  idea  attended  to 
becomes  clearer  or  stronger);  there  is  widespread  inhibition  of 
cerebral  function  on  the  other  hand  (the  remaining  ideas  grow 
dim  and  weak) . 

It  is  natural  to  look  for  the  origin  of  the  reinforcing  and  inhib- 
itory processes  in  the  frontal  lobes,  the  supreme  co-ordinating 
centre  of  the  brain.  However  they  arise,  we  should  suppose  that 
they  arise  there.  Now  we  have  seen  that  an  excitation  of  the 
frontal  lobes  is  the  necessary  condition  of  the  affective  processes. 
Our  supposition  will,  then,  be  greatly  strengthened,  if  we  can  find 
any  close  relation  between  affection  and  attention  as  facts  of  men- 
tal experience. 

We  find,  as  a matter  of  fact,  that  it  is  only  when  we  attend  to  im- 
pressions that  we  feel  them  to  be  pleasant  or  unpleasant.  Impres- 
sions which  are  not  attended  to  are  indifferent.  If  we  can  ‘ forget  ’ 
our  toothache,  i.e.,  find  something  more  interesting  and  absorbing, 
and  so  cease  to  attend  to  the  tooth,  the  unpleasantness  vanishes. 
Impressions  which  have  grown  habitual,  i.e.,  whose  affective  at- 
tribute has  worn  off,  are  impressions  which  have  ceased  to  attract 
the  attention.  Hence,  when  we  say  that  an  ‘ interesting  ’ thing 
catches  the  attention,  we  are  really  speaking  tautologically.  A 
thing  is  ‘ interesting’  when  it  is  ‘ a thing  to  be  attended  to.’  It  is 
not  that  the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  comes  first,  and  that 
we  then  attend  to  the  impression : the  two  parts  of  our  experi- 
ence, the  affective  and  the  attentive,  are  simultaneous.  In  popular 
parlance,  we  attend  because  the  thing  is  interesting ; in  psycho- 


134 


Conation  and  Attention 


logical  language,  the  interest  and  the  attention  are  two  sides  of 
the  same  experience. 

Putting  the  physiological  and  psychological  together,  we  may 
say  that  attention  to  a pleasant  theme  corresponds  to  an  exercise 
of  function  by  well-nourished  frontal  lobes  (§  32),  and  attention  to 
an  unpleasant  theme,  to  the  exercise  of  function  by  ill-nourished 
frontal  lobes.  Since  attention  is  always  attention  to  something, 
there  must  also  be  an  excitation  set  up  in  some  sensory  cortical 
centre  (visual,  auditory,  etc.)  ; and  in  the  same  way,  any  pleas- 
antness or  unpleasantness  implies  the  excitation  of  the  cortical 
centre,  to  which  the  pleasant  or  unpleasant  idea  belongs.  And. 
just  as  it  is  one  effect  of  the  adjustment  or  adaptation  of  the 
nervous  system  that  its  surroundings  are  indifferent,  and  the  nour- 
ishment of  the  frontal  lobes  unaffected  by  them,  so  it  is  anothei 
result  of  adaptation  that  the  organism  gradually  ceases  to  attend 
to  frequently  repeated  impressions,  and  that  the  frontal  lobes  are 
not  called  upon  to  perform  their  functions,  — the  lower  brail? 
centres  meeting  all  the  requirements  of  the  occasion.  Lastly,  we 
now  see  the  special  reason  for  the  impossibility  of  attending  to  an 
affection.  Attention  and  affection  are  two  sides  of  one  and  the 
same  process. 

The  results  of  this  Section  may  be  summarised  as  fol- 
lows. Attention  to  an  impression  means  three  things.  II 
means  (1)  that  consciousness  is  conative,  i.e.,  made  up  in 
large  part  of  the  complex  experience  of  effort ; (2)  that  3 
particular  idea  or  perception,  or  small  group  of  ideas  01 
perceptions,  becomes  clearer,  more  lasting  and  (perhaps) 
stronger  than  it  was  before  ; and  (3)  that  the  remaining 
processes  which  go  to  make  up  the  consciousness  of  the 
moment  become  fainter,  more  transient  and  less  distincl 
than  they  otherwise  would  be.  On  the  physiological  side 
we  have:  (1)  a tension  or  set  of  the  muscles,  extending 
more  or  less  widely  over  the  whole  body,  but  especially 
well  marked  in  some  particular  organ  {cf.  the  attitude  of 


§ 39-  The  Attributes  of  Attention  13s 

the  eavesdropper,  or  the  set  of  the  eyes,  wrinkling  of 
the  forehead,  etc.,  in  attentive  thinking);  (2)  central  rein- 
forcement or  facilitation  of  particular  excitations ; and 
(3)  central  inhibition  of  other  excitatory  processes. 

There  is  no  trace  in  attention  of  a third  elementary 
conscious  process,  co-ordinate  with  sensation  and  affection. 

§ 39.  The  Attributes  of  Attention. — It  is  evident  that  we 
cannot  speak  of  ‘ attributes  ’ of  attention  in  precisely  the 
same  sense  in  which  we  have  spoken  of  the  attributes  of 
sensation  and  affection.  Attention  is  not  a simple, 
elemental  process : it  is  a . complex  of  elementary  pro- 
cesses  (the  sensations  and  affection  which  make  up  the 
experience  of  effort)  accompanied  by  changes  (changes 
of  intensity,  distinctness,  duration,  etc.)  in  other  mental 
processes.  Nevertheless  we  can  look  at  attention,  as  we 
can  at  sensation,  from  different  points  of  view.  It  will 
be  well,  therefore,  to  ask  whether  the  differences  which  it 
presents  in  any  way  resemble  the  differences  of  quality, 
intensity,  etc.,  which  exist  between  sensations  and  affec- 
tions. 

(1)  To  speak  of  the  quality  of  attention  would  be  mean- 
ingless. The  qualities  present  in  attention  are  (a)  the 
sensation  qualities  contained  in  the  experience  of  effort, 
qualities  of  strain,  etc.,  — whether  peripheral  (coming 
from  actual  bodily  adjustment)  or  central  (coming  from 
remembrance  or  imagination  of  bodily  adjustment);  (b)  an 
affective  quality,  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness ; and  (e) 
the  quality  (or  qualities)  of  the  sensation  (or  perception  or 
idea)  attended  to.  Although  the  quality  of  strain  is  always 
present,  it  need  not  be  the  predominant  quality  in  atten- 
tion : the  predominant  quality  may  be  that  of  the  sensation 
or  idea  attended  to.  And  as  any  sensation  or  idea  may  be 


136 


Conation  and  Attention 


attended  to,  there  cannot  be  any  specific  or  characteristic 
‘attention  quality.’ 

(2)  We  might  attribute  intensity  to  attention,  meaning 
by  it  the  effectiveness  with  which  the  object  of  attention 
(the  idea  attended  to)  is  reinforced,  and  the  remaining 
conscious  processes  inhibited,  in  a given  case.  That  dif- 
ferences of  this  kind  exist  is  obvious.  We  may  be  com- 
pletely absorbed  in  a subject  (very  high  degree  of  rein- 
forcement, with  very  effective  inhibition),  fairly  attentive 
(high  degree  of  reinforcement,  less  effective  inhibition), 
little  attentive  (little  reinforcement,  weak  inhibition),  or 
entirely  inattentive  (no  reinforcement  and  no  inhibition). 
But  as  intensity  is  here  used  in  a new  sense,  to  mean  the 
intensity  of  a total  complex  process,  and  not  of  one  of  its 
simple  components,  it  will  be  better  to  avoid  the  term, 
and  to  speak  rather  of  the  degree  of  attention. 

(3)  Attention  cannot  be  maintained  for  an  indefinite 
length  of  time;  it  ‘tires’  or  ‘relaxes.’  Moreover,  it 
varies  greatly  in  duration , shifting  from  object  to  object 
at  irregular  intervals,  altogether  irrespectively  of  fatigue. 
We  may  attend  to  a lecture,  without  tiring,  for  a whole 
hour ; but  we  may  also  attend  for  a few  seconds  only. 
We  must  enquire,  then,  for  how  long  a time  the  rein- 
forcing and  inhibitory  processes  can  co-operate,  without 
relaxation,  i.e.,  what  is  the  maximal  duration  of  atten- 
tion to  one  object;  and  try  to  ascertain  the  reasons  for 
relaxation,  when  it  appears. 

(4)  Attention  has  no  extent , in  the  sense  in  which  visual 
and  tactual  (cutaneous  and  articular)  sensations  have  ex- 
tent. But  it  has  a different  range  in  different  cases : we 
may  attend  to  a single  sensation  of  red,  or  to  a water- 
colour drawing  which  shows  all  the  colours  of  the  spec- 


§ 40-  The  Degree  of  Attention 


137 


trum.  The  question  of  the  maximal  range  of  attention 
thus  arises  : the  question,  i.e.,  to  how  many  impressions 
we  can  attend,  without  slurring  over  any  one  of  them. 

We  previously  noticed  the  fact  that  it  is  possible  to  speak  of 
the  intensity,  duration,  etc.,  of  complex  as  well  as  of  simple  con- 
scious processes  (§  8).  Attention  offers  an  instance  of  this 
usage. 

§40.  The  Degree  of  Attention. — -We  can  say  nothing 
very  definitely  of  the  different  degrees  of  attention.  Lan- 
guage makes  certain  rough  distinctions  : ‘ close  ’ or  ‘ rapt  ’ 
or  ‘ absorbed  ’ attention  is  opposed  to  ‘ wandering  ’ or  1 fit- 
ful ’ attention  or  to  inattention,  ‘ complete  ’ attention  to 
‘ divided  ’ attention,  etc.  But  these  phrases  give  us  no 
better  idea  of  the  number  of  possible  attention  degrees 
than  do  the  expressions  Tight  grey,’  ‘grey,’  ‘dark  grey,’ 
of  the  number  of  distinguishable  qualities  of  brightness 
sensation. 

Since  attention  always  includes  the  effort  experience,  it 
might  be  thought  that  the  intensity  of  effort  would  furnish 
a measure  of  the  degree  of  attention.  But  a little  con- 
sideration shows  that  intensity  of  effort  and  degree  of 
attention  do  not  run  parallel  to  each  other.  We  very 
easily  become  absorbed  in  our  favourite  topic  (high  degree 
of  attention,  containing  but  slight  effort)  ; while  a small 
amount  of  attention  bestowed  upon  an  uninteresting  sub- 
ject renders  the  effort-complex  exceedingly  prominent  in 
consciousness. 

The  reason  is,  that  effort  is  only  a part,  not  the  whole, 
of  attention.  It  does  not  follow  that  because  effort  is 
strong  or  weak  the  whole  process  of  attention  must  be 
strong  or  weak.  The  experience  of  effort  is  one  side  of 


138  Conation  and  Attention 

attention ; the  changes  in  the  idea  attended  to,  by  rein- 
forcement, and  in  other  ideas,  by  inhibition,  are  the  other 
side.  If  the  processes  of  reinforcement  and  inhibition  are 
materially  aided  by  tendency,  by  the  ‘ set  ’ of  the  cortex, 
we  may  get  great  attention  (total  conscious  process)  with 
but  little  effort  (part-process) ; if  they  are  not,  we  may 
have  a considerable  effort  and  yet  but  scant  attention. 

Thus  we  may  listen  to  a tedious  speaker  — because  it  is  ‘good 
manners  ’ to  listen  — while  our  attention  is  more  than  half  taken 
up  with  our  own  thoughts.  Here  the  amount  of  effort  (part- 
process)  experienced  is  by  no  means  proportional  to  the  amount 
of  attention  (total  process)  given.  A certain  acquired  tendency 
is  reinforcing  the  excitations  which  correspond  to  the  ideas  of 
social  propriety,  respect  for  age,  etc.,  while  natural  tendencies  are 
reinforcing  other  excitations  which  correspond  to  the  subject  of 
our  thoughts.  There  is  a conflict  (§38),  and  the  former  wins ; 
but  wins  by  a narrow  margin.  Hence  a high  degree  of  effort 
occurs  in  conjunction  with  slight  reinforcement  of  the  speaker’s 
words  and  slight  inhibition  of  the  listener’s  thoughts  : a weak 
attention  includes  a strong  effort. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  ‘ born  ’ naturalist  follows  the  line  of 
least  resistance  when  he  stops  his  conversation  to  watch  the  ma- 
noeuvres of  a spider  on  the  window-pane.  A natural  tendency  has 
‘ prepared  ’ the  cortex  for  the  reinforcement  of  the  excitations 
corresponding  to  the  perception  of  the  spider,  and  the  inhibition 
of  other  excitations.  Here,  there  is  a strong  attention,  including 
but  a slight  effort. 

The  term  ‘ inattention  ’ is  used  in  two  senses.  Strictly 
defined,  it  is  the  lowest  degree  of  attention.  In  this  signifi- 
cance, it  is  the  obverse  of  extreme  attention  : absorption 
in  one  topic  means  inattention  to  all  others.  In  its  second- 
ary sense,  inattention  is  used  to  denote  a fact  of  mental 
constitution  as  a whole,  and  indicates  a low  stage  of  men- 
tal development. 


§ 40.  The  Degree  of  Attention 


r39 


(1)  Those  who  are  capable  of  sustained  attention,  and  whose 
occupations  give  constant  exercise  to  this  capacity,  are  rarely 
inattentive  (to  one  thing)  unless  they  are  closely  attentive  (to 
another).  We  have  the  extreme  form  of  inattention  (and  of 
attention)  in  absent-mindedness  or  ‘ brown  study.’  Here  the 
attention  is  so  exclusively  concentrated  upon  a congenial  topic 
that  all  impressions  which  are  not  connected  with  it  pass  unat- 
tended to. 

(2)  Animals  are  ‘constitutionally’  inattentive,  in  the  second 
sense  of  the  word.  Although  the  organism  is  4 selective  ’ (§35), 
/.<?.,  has  definite  tendencies,  there  is  no  conscious  co-ordination  of 
these  tendencies  for  a scheme  or  plan  of  life.  In  the  most  highly 
developed  mind,  on  the  other  hand,  — the  mind  of  civilised  man, 
— the  natural  tendencies  are  pressed,  during  education,  into  the 
service  of  some  life-plan.  We  may  express  the  difference  meta- 
phorically by  saying  that  in  ourselves  the  tendencies  are  focussed 
upon  some  definite  object,  or  that  the  attention  is  trained  in  some 
one  direction ; whereas,  in  the  animal,  tendencies  subsist  side  by 
side,  and  are  focussed  or  converged  upon  a particular  object  only 
at  the  instigation  of  sheer  necessity,  and  only  for  so  long  as  the 
necessity  lasts.  Or  again  : we  have  a conscious  end  (ambition, 
ideal,  etc.)  before  us  ; the  animal  has  none. 

There  are,  however,  many  members  of  civilised  communities 
who  are  thus  4 constitutionally  inattentive,’  i.e.,  who  are  incapable 
of  sustained  attention,  whose  attention  is  caught  by  anything  and 
everything,  and  relaxed  as  lightly  as  it  is  caught.  We  term  them 
‘ scatter-brained,’  4 unreliable,’  4 forgetful,’ 4 capricious,’  4 uncertain,’ 
4 changeable,’  etc.,  according  to  the  circumstances  in  which  their 
constitutional  lack  of  attention  is  manifested.  The  mental  type  is 
illustrated  more  often  in  children  than  in  adults,  — indeed,  it  is 
natural  to  children  at  a certain  stage  of  mental  development,  — 
and  more  often  in  women  than  in  men. 

Mental  pathology  gives  us  an  extreme  instance  of  this  constitu- 
tional inattention  in  the  dream  consciousness,  and  an  instance  of 
exclusive  concentration  in  the  hypnotic  consciousness.  Unfortu- 
nately, both  dreaming  and  hypnosis  present  conditions  which  are 
unfavourable  to  introspection. 


140  Conation  and  Attention 

§ 41.  The  Duration  of  Attention.  — We  can  attend  to  the 
same  topic  for  a considerable  length  of  time.  Music  lovers 
will  sit  out  a five  hours’  opera  without  letting  their  atten- 
tion wander  from  the  music ; and  there  are  many  things 
— an  interesting  public  ceremony,  a baffling  mechanical 
puzzle,  the  last  work  of  a popular  author,  a newly  invented 
machine  — which  will  hold  the  attention  for  a long  time. 
Hence  we  might  be  tempted  to  suppose  that  attention  is 
a relatively  permanent  state  of  consciousness. 

But  if  we  look  closely  at  experiences  of  the  kind,  we 
see  that  the  object  of  attention  is,  in  reality,  constantly 
changing.  The  musical  themes  vary,  the  ceremony  pro- 
ceeds, the  puzzle  is  tried  now  in  one  way  and  now  in 
another,  the  plot  of  the  story  developes,  the  machine 
becomes  intelligible  part  by  part.  Attention,  in  each 
instance,  is  attention  not  to  a single  impression,  but  to 
a series  of  different  impressions.  Consequently,  the  ex- 
periences tell  us  nothing  of  the  duration  of  ‘ an  ’ attention, 
if  the  phrase  be  permissible,  — of  a single  attentive  con- 
sciousness. 

The  question  can  be  answered  only  by  an  appeal  to  ex- 
periment. For  it  is  only  under  experimental  conditions 
that  we  can  keep  the  object  of  attention  absolutely  simple, 
and  so  far  rule  out  disturbing  influences.  Many  experi- 
ments have  been  made,  and  all  have  led  to  the  same 
result : that  attention  is  not  persistent,  but  intermittent,  — 
rising  and  falling,  waxing  and  waning,  at  quite  short 
intervals.  If  we  attend  as  closely  as  we  can  to  a simple 
sense-impression,  its  quality  is  not  made  permanently 
clearer  and  more  distinct;  it  becomes  alternately  clear 
and  blurred,  distinct  and  indistinct.  The  attention  fluctu- 
ates. 


§ 41-  The  Duration  of  Attention  14 1 

The  fluctuations  of  attention  are  usually  irregular.  The 
time  of  a single  ‘ pulse  ’ of  the  attention  — from  distinct- 
ness to  distinctness,  or  from  indistinctness  to  indistinctness 
of  the  impression  — has  been  found  to  vary,  in  the  case  of 
weak  stimuli,  between  the  limits  of  6 and  24  sec. 

Method.  — It  is  best  to  work  with  the  weakest  possible,  i.e., 
with  just  noticeable  stimuli.  For  if  any  blurring  or  indistinctness 
occurs  in  a sensation  which,  at  its  best,  is  only  just  noticeable,  it 
is  plain  that  the  sensation  will  disappear  altogether.  Waxing  and 
waning  of  the  attention  will  then  mean  appearance  and  disappear- 
ance of  the  sensation ; and  it  is  far  easier  to  say  that  we  do  or  do 
not  see  or  hear  something  than  to  say  that  what  we  see  or  hear 
has  grown  more  or  less  clear  or  distinct. 

Paint  a very  light  grey  circle  upon  a square  of  white  cardboard, 
and  place  the  card  so  far  from  the  eye  that  the  grey  is  only  just 
distinguishable,  only  just  noticeably  different  from  the  white. 
Look  steadily  at  the  circle.  It  will  be  visible  for  a few  moments  ; 
then  the  white  of  the  card  will  seem  to  wash  over  it ; then  it  will 
appear  again ; then  disappear,  and  so  on.  Let  an  assistant  hold  a 
stop-watch.  Each  time  that  the  grey  becomes  clear,  tap  the  table 
with  a pencil : the  assistant  will  note  and  record  the  intervals 
between  tap  and  tap.  When  you  have  accustomed  yourself  to  the 
experiment,  you  may  tap  the  table  not  only  when  the  grey  ap- 
pears, but  also  when  it  disappears,  and  compare  the  length  of 
time  during  which  attention  is  sustained  with  the  length  of  time 
during  which  it  is  relaxed.  The  former  time  will  probably  be  the 
longer. 

The  experiment  may  be  repeated  with  a faint  noise  as  stimulus 
— say,  the  tick  of  a watch  removed  so  far  from  the  ear  that  its 
sound  is  only  just  audible.  In  this  case  you  must  signal  to  the 
assistant  by  some  different  means,  as  the  tap  on  the  table  would 
interfere  with  your  attention  to  the  watch.  You  might,  e.g.,  have 
a string  attached  to  your  forefinger  and  to  his  wrist,  and  pull  upon 
it  when  the  ticking  appeared  and  disappeared. 

Since  you  are  working  with  minimal  stimuli,  you  must  be  care- 


142 


Conation  and  Attention 


ful  to  have  the  sense-organ  exactly  adjusted  to  the  impression.  A 
chance  movement  of  the  eye  or  a slight  turn  of  the  head  would 
cause  the  grey  circle  or  the  watch-tick  to  disappear,  quite  in- 
dependently of  the  attention.  The  duration  of  the  attention  can 
be  inferred  only  from  the  behaviour  of  the  sensation  under  abso- 
lutely constant  bodily  conditions. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  attention  to  centrally  aroused  sensations 

— e.g.,  an  imagined  watch-tick  — is  subject  to  the  same  fluctua- 
tions as  attention  to  external  stimuli. 

The  explanation  of  the  intermittence  of  attention  is  to 
be  sought  in  the  nature  of  the  physiological  processes  (pro- 
cesses of  cortical  reinforcement  and  inhibition)  which  cor- 
respond to  it.  When  a nerve-cell  acts  upon  another  nerve- 
cell, it  does  this  not  gradually  or  continuously,  as  if  in- 
fluence ‘ flowed  ’ from  it,  but  suddenly  and  at  once,  as 
if  the  influence  were  ‘ discharged.’  Indeed,  physiologists 
speak  always  of  the  ‘ discharge  ’ or  ‘ explosion  ’ of  a nerve- 
cell, when  they  refer  to  its  exercise  of  function.  We 
must  imagine,  therefore,  that  when  the  frontal  lobes  re- 
inforce or  inhibit  an  excitation,  they  act  by  jerks  : there 
is  a jet  or  spurt  of  energy  from  them,  — then  a brief 
pause,  during  which  they  recuperate,  lay  up  more  energy, 

— then  another  jet,  and  so  on.  In  the  pauses  between  jet 
and  jet,  the  cortex  is  at  the  mercy  of  other  impressions 
than  that  which  is  the  special  object  of  attention : there 
is  a relaxation  of  the  attention,  and  the  ideas  correspond- 
ing to  these  other  impressions  take  the  place  of  the  idea 
attended  to. 

‘ But  whence  do  these  impressions  come  ? We  are 
working  under  experimental  conditions,  and  have  ruled 
disturbances  out.’  We  have  ruled  out  disturbances,  so  far 
as  we  can.  But  we  cannot  rule  out  the  rustling  of  our 


§ 41-  TJie  Duration  of  Atte7ition 


143 


clothes  which  comes  with  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  chest  in 
breathing,  the  noise  of  heart-beat,  the  pressure  from  the 
twitching  of  a muscle,  the  tickling  of  a hair,  the  tingling 
of  the  skin,  etc.  Still  less  can  we  rule  out  disturbing 
central  excitations.  Memories  and  imaginings  of  all  sorts 
start  up,  — the  counterparts  of  some  chance  excitation  in  a 
cortical  centre,  — and  the  attention  is  diverted  from  the 
given  impression  before  we  know  that  there  is  anything 
present  to  divert  it. 

The  great  importance  of  these  distracting  impressions  is  vouched 
for  by  introspection.  Attend  to  the  grey  circle  or  watch-tick  as 
before ; but  interrupt  the  experiment,  as  soon  as  the  impression 
has  disappeared,  to  ask  yourself  introspectively  the  reason  for  its 
disappearance.  It  may  have  vanished  because  your  eye  ‘ slipped,’ 
or  your  collar  creaked.  In  that  case  try  again.  You  will  find 
that  the  impression  disappears,  however  favourable  the  conditions 
for  seeing  or  hearing ; and  that  it  disappears  when  the  attention 
has  been  distracted  by  the  ‘ cropping  up  ’ of  some  irrelevant  idea. 

Introspection  cannot,  however,  show  why  it  is  that  the  irrele- 
vant ideas  are  allowed  to  crop  up.  The  reason  for  that  lies  in 
the  nature  of  the  physiological  processes  which  constitute  the 
condition  of  attention. 

It  is  natural  to  suppose  that,  if  we  could  secure  really  constant 
conditions  of  experimentation,  internal  and  external,  we  should 
find  the  fluctuation  of  attention  to  be  regular.  Under  such 
conditions,  discharge  and  reloading  of  frontal  lobe  cells  should 
succeed  each  other  with  perfect  regularity.  The  conditions  are, 
unfortunately,  almost  impossible  of  realisation,  — impossible,  un- 
less a happy  chance  assist  our  efforts  to  regulate  circumstances. 
It  has  been  found,  however,  in  experiments  made  with  all  con- 
ceivable caution,  that  the  fluctuations  may  be  regular ; in  these 
experiments,  the  time  occupied  by  a single  pulse  of  the  attention 
was  3.5  sec.1 

1 It  may  seem  strange  that  while  the  average  pulse  of  the  attention  lasts 
from  6 to  24  sec.,  pulses  so  short  as  3.5  sec.  should  be  obtained  under  the  most 


144 


Conation  and  Attention 


This  result  agrees  with  a fact  of  general  psychological  experi- 
ence : that  the  signal  for  any  experiment  is  best  given  to  the 
observer  some  1.5  to  2 sec.  before  the  experiment  is  made.  The 
interval  allows  the  attention  to  come  to  its  full  strain,  but  ends 
before  relaxation  has  begun.  It  is  surely  significant  that  it  is  just 
half  of  the  fluctuation-time  mentioned  above. 

§ 42.  The  Range  of  Attention.  — Our  problem  is  to 
determine  how  many  impressions  can  be  attended  to 
together,  without  diminution  of  the  clearness,  intensity, 
etc.,  to  which  each  one  of  them  would  attain  if  the  atten- 
tion were  directed  to  it  singly.  It  is  a common  saying 
that  ‘ nobody  can  attend  to  two  things  at  once  ’ ; but 
experiment  shows  that  the  truth  of  the  statement  de- 
pends upon  what  the  ‘ things  ’ are,  whether  complex  or 
simple  impressions ; and,  if  they  are  complex,  upon  the 
degree  of  their  complexity. 

We  can  approach  the  problem  in  two  ways,  — by  a si- 
multaneous and  a successive  method.  We  may  present  a 
number  of  stimuli  to  a sense-organ  at  the  same  time, 
gradually  adding  to  them,  until  it  becomes  impossible  to 
attend  to  all  at  once.  This  procedure  is  the  best  for 
visual  and  cutaneous  stimuli  (lines,  letters,  circles,  bands 
of  colour,  etc.,  laid  upon  the  same  background ; or  simul- 
taneous pressures  at  different  parts  of  the  body).  Or  we 
may  give  the  stimuli  in  succession,  gradually  increasing 
their  number  till  the  point  is  reached  at  which  the  first 
disappears  from  consciousness  as  the  last  is  given.  This 

favourable  circumstances.  It  is  probable  that  the  pulse  is  of  different  duration 
in  the  case  of  different  individuals.  It  may  be,  however,  that  the  results  which 
give  6 to  24  sec.  are  not  wholly  trustworthy;  that  the  stimulus  was  not  mini- 
mal throughout  the  experiments,  and  that  accordingly  one  or  more  blurrings 
or  fadings  of  the  impression  were  overlooked  by  the  observers.  New  investi- 
gations must  be  made,  before  the  question  can  be  finally  settled. 


§ 42.  The  Range  of  Attention 


145 


method  answers  best  with  auditory  stimuli  (eg.,  beats  of  a 
metronome).  In  both  cases  the  object  of  enquiry  is  the 
same : we  wish  to  determine  the  limit  of  complexity  at 
which  the  attention  becomes  unable  to  cope  with  the 
stimuli  offered  to  a given  sense-organ. 

It  has  been  found  by  the  former  method  that  four  or 
five  simple  visual  stimuli  can  be  presented  together,  with- 
out distraction  of  the  attention  from  any  one,  i.e.,  without 
diminution  of  its  clearness,  intensity,  etc.  ; while  the  sec- 
ond method  leads  to  the  conclusion  that  a series  of  eight 
auditory  impressions  can  just  be  grasped  by  the  atten- 
tion. 

Method : (1)  Simultaneous  stimuli.  — Prepare  a series  of  white 
cards,  upon  which  are  printed  letters,  lines,  etc.,  in  gradually  in- 
creasing numbers.  One  of  the  cards  must  be  set  up,  in  each 
experiment,  at  a convenient  distance  from  the  eye  of  the  ob- 
server. In  front  of  it  is  an  apparatus  resembling  the  instantaneous 
shutter  of  a photographic  camera.  When  this  apparatus  is  set  in 
action,  the  card  becomes  visible  for  a fraction  of  a second.  The 
time  of  exposure  must  be  very  short,  since  otherwise  the  eye  may 
sweep  rapidly  over  the  impressions,  leaving  some  to  be  remem- 
bered while  the  others  are  directly  attended  to  : in  this  case  they 
would  not  be  apprehended  by  ‘ an  ’ attention,  but  by  a series  of 
attentions.  The  card,  too,  must  be  so  small  as  to  be  easily  ‘ taken 
in  ’ by  the  eye  at  a glance,  without  eye-movement.  Otherwise  we 
may  be  measuring  not  the  extent  of  the  ‘ field  ’ of  attention,  but 
that  of  the  field  of  vision.  Thus,  if  the  field  of  vision  were  filled 
out  with  broad  bands  of  colour,  we  might  reach  its  limits  before 
we  had  reached  the  limits  of  the  grasp  of  the  attention  ; three 
bands,  of  red,  green  and  blue,  might  fill  the  visual  field,  while  the 
attention,  as  we  have  said,  is  able  to  grasp  four  or  five  simultane- 
ously presented  simple  visual  impressions,  — colours,  letters,  lines, 
etc. 

If  letters  are  employed  as  stimuli,  they  must  form  a meaning- 


146 


Conation  and  Attention 


less  series,  such  as  RKZT.  It  has  been  found  that  a familiar 
word  of  four  letters  can  be  apprehended  by  the  attention  as  if 
it  were  a single  letter ; it  is  attended  to,  not  as  a series  of  letters, 
but  as  one  total  impression  (Ch.  VII).  For  the  same  reason, 
the  attention  can  deal  better  with  figures  than  with  disconnected 
letters.  Any  combination  of  figures  ‘ makes  sense,’  represents  a 
definite  number  : 4321  means  something,  just  as  much  as  1234. 

(2)  Successive  Stimuli.  — The  running  weight  upon  the  tongue 
of  a metronome  is  so  placed  that  the  interval  between  beat  and 
beat  is  about  a quarter  of  a second.  The  experimenter  marks  off 
groups  of  beats  by  sounding  a bell  simultaneously  with  the  first 
beat  of  each  group.  Two  series  are  given  in  each  experiment : 

thus,  j-  — beat  — beat  — beat : j-  — beat — beat  — beat ; 

beat  ) beat ) 

and  the  observer  is  required  to  say  whether  the  two  groups  are 
equal  or  unequal.  He  must  not  count,  of  course  ; counting  would 
mean  that  attention  was  given  to  each  beat  separately,  and,  there- 
fore, that  the  series  was  apprehended  by  successive  attentions,  and 
not  by  ‘ an  ’ attention.  Accurate  judgment  is  impossible  in  the 
case  of  series  which  consist  of  more  than  eight  impressions. 

But  just  as  in  the  previous  experiments  a word  of  four  letters 
was  equivalent,  for  the  attention,  to  a single  letter,  so  here  a group 
of  impressions  may  be  equivalent,  for  the  attention,  to  a single 
impression.  We  have  already  referred  to  the  influence  of  rhythm 
in  judgments  passed  upon  the  relations  of  auditory  stimuli  (§  29). 
Now  when  we  listen  to  our  series  of  metronome  beats,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  avoid  throwing  them  into  a more  or  less  complex  rhythm. 
If  the  8 impressions  which  constitute  an  experimental  series  are 
single  beats,  they  are  apprehended  not  as  8 but  as  4 ( beat  beat, 
beat  beat,  beat  beat,  beat  beat ; not  beat,  beat,  beat,  beat,  beat, 
beat,  beat,  beat)  ; so  that,  for  the  attention,  they  are  4 impres- 
sions. The  limits  of  the  grasp  of  attention  lie  between  8 impres- 
sions of  2 beats  each  (16  beats  in  all)  and  5 impressions  of  8 
beats  each  (40  in  all) . The  8 beats  in  the  latter  case  are  broken 
up  into  4 pairs,  accented  as  trochees  ( cj . § 47). 

The  range  of  affection  we  found  to  be  coextensive  with  con- 
sciousness. It  should  be  possible  to  say  the  same  thing  of  the 


§ 42.  The  Range  of  Attention 


147 


range  of  attention,  if  affection  and  attention  are  simply  obverse 
and  reverse  of  a single  process  (p.  134).  Yet  the  range  of  atten- 
tion, as  defined  in  this  Section,  is  evidently  much  less  than  the 
range  of  a full  consciousness.  The  reason  for  this  apparent  anom- 
aly is  the  two-fold  meaning  of  the  phrase  ‘ range  of  attention.’ 
By  range  of  attention,  as  used  here,  we  mean  the  number  of 
ideas  that  become  clearer  during  the  total  attentive  process.  But 
when  we  compare  the  range  of  attention  with  the  range  of  affec- 
tion, we  must  include  under  the  term  attention  not  only  the  ideas 
that  are  made  clear,  but  the  ideas  that  become  less  clear : atten- 
tion consists  of  reinforcement  of  certain  ideas  and  inhibition  of 
others.  In  this  sense,  as  covering  both  the  ideas  emphasised  and 
the  ideas  slurred,  attention  is  coextensive  with  consciousness. 

Our  estimation  of  the  simultaneity  (p.  144)  of  two  or  more  im- 
pressions is  not  always  accurate.  Stimuli  given  at  different  times 
may  yet  fall  within  the  range  of  attention  at  what  appears  to  the 
subject  to  be  the  same  time. 

Method.  — Experiments  must  be  made  by  aid  of  an  instrument 
called  the  ‘complication  pendulum.’  This  gives  (1)  a continuous 
series  of  visual  impressions  : a black  pointer  travels  round  a white 
clock-face;  (2)  a series  of  bell-clangs;  (3)  a series  of  electric 
shocks  at  some  part  of  the  body ; and  (4)  a series  of  sharp  noises. 
Two,  three,  or  all  four  series  can  be  employed.  If  (1)  and  (2) 
are  used,  it  is  found  that  when  the  attention  is  directed  more 
strongly  to  the  clock-face,  the  bell  is  heard  too  late  : a position  of 
the  index  and  a clang  are  thought  to  occur  simultaneously  when, 
as  a matter  of  fact,  the  clang  is  the  earlier  of  the  two  impressions  ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  when  the  attention  is  concentrated  upon 
the  sound,  the  index  is  seen  too  late  : a sight  and  a sound  are 
thought  to  occur  simultaneously  when,  as  a matter  of  fact,  the 
clang  is  the  later  of  the  two  impressions.  — The  experiments  are 
so  difficult,  and  have  been  made  in  such  small  numbers,  that  no 
numerical  time-results  can  be  given.  They  show,  however,  that 
the  sensation  attended  to  not  only  increases  in  clearness  and  dura- 
tion (p.  134),  but  also  enters  consciousness  more  quickly,  than  the 
sensation  whose  stimulus  receives  a smaller  measure  of  attention. 


PART  II 


CHAPTER  VII 

Perception  and  Idea 

§ 43.  Sensation,  Perception  and  Idea.  — We  have  hitherto 
used  the  terms  ‘perception’  and  ‘idea’  indifferently,  to  sig- 
nify a complex  of  sensations  ; and  we  have  implied  that 
such  a complex  process  becomes,  under  certain  conditions, 
a single  item  of  mental  experience,  forms  a coherent  whole, 
— so  that  we  can  speak  of  its  intensity,  duration,  etc., 
quite  apart  from  the  intensity  or  duration  of  the  element- 
ary processes  which  enter  into  it.  We  must  now  ask  how 
these  complexes  are  formed ; which  of  the  four  attributes 
of  sensation  are  of  the  greatest  importance  for  their 
production  ; and  under  what  circumstances  they  acquire 
their  unity  or  singleness  for  mental  experience. 

There  is  no  fundamental  psychological  difference  between  the 
perception  and  the  idea.  It  is  customary  to  speak  of  ‘ percep- 
tion ’ when  the  majority  of  the  simple  processes  in  the  complex 
are  the  result  of  stimulation  of  a sense-organ,  i.e.,  are  peripherally 
aroused,  and  of  ‘ idea  ’ when  the  greater  number  are  the  result  of 
an  excitation  within  the  brain  cortex,  i.e.,  are  centrally  aroused. 
If  I have  a table  before  me,  and  my  eyes  open,  I am  said  to  ‘ per- 
ceive ’ the  table ; if  I close  my  eyes,  and  think  of  what  I saw,  to 
have  an  ‘ idea  ’ of  the  table.  But  we  have  seen  that  the  sensations 
aroused  centrally  do  not  differ  as  psychological  processes  from 
those  aroused  peripherally  (§  7).  Hence  although  we  might  be 
tempted  for  convenience’  sake  to  follow  the  common  usage, — 
to  employ  ‘ perception  ’ to  denote  what  is  now  before  us,  and 

148 


§ 43-  Sensation,  Perception  and  Idea  149 

‘idea’  to  denote  what  is  remembered  or  imagined,  — we  should  be 
obliged  constantly  to  remind  ourselves  that,  in  principle,  the  two 
processes  are  one  and  the  same.  And  the  danger  of  forgetting  this 
would  far  outweigh,  in  psychology,  the  convenience  of  separating 
the  terms.  In  natural  science,  on  the  other  hand,  and  in  practical 
life,  the  distinction  is  very  necessary.  — In  what  follows,  therefore, 
as  in  what  has  preceded,  we  shall  use  the  words  indiscriminately. 

We  classified  sensations  in  the  first  place  by  reference 
to  the  sense-organs  from  which  they  proceed,  and  second- 
arily by  reference  to  the  stimuli  which  arouse  them.  We 
might  now  classify  ideas  in  the  same  way,  beginning  with 
the  great  groups  originated  in  a sense  department  (visual, 
auditory,  olfactory,  etc.),  and  subdividing  these  by  the 
help  of  differences  of  stimulation  within  a department 
(ideas  of  colour,  of  brightness,  of  tone,  of  noise,  etc.). 
But  such  a classification  would  be  misleading.  The  sense- 
organs  are,  as  a matter  of  fact,  not  separate  instruments : 
they  are  instruments  in  the  service  of  a single  organism, 
and  they  are  connected  with  one  another,  by  way  of  the 
brain.  So  long  as  we  are  enquiring  into  the  nature  and 
number  of  the  elementary  conscious  processes  (§  4),  we 
may  regard  each  group  of  sensations  as  separate  and 
independent,  and  each  member  of  a group  as  an  individual 
process,  possessed  of  its  own  attributes.  But  when  we 
come  to  consider  sensations  as  elements  in  ideas,  we  find, 
naturally  enough,  but  little  show  of  independence  and 
individuality.  The  particular  sensation,  regarded  apart 
from  other  sensations,  is  the  product  of  scientific  analysis, 
an  abstraction  from  actual  mental  experience  : the  simplest 
item  of  that  experience  is  the  idea.  It  was  necessary  for 
us,  as  psychologists,  to  see  how  the  sense-organs  would 
work  if  they  were  working  separately.  That  done,  how- 


1 50  Perception  a?id  Idea 

ever,  we  must  go  on  to  enquire  how  they  really  do  work 
together  for  the  benefit  of  the  organism. 

We  never  have,  then,  a perfectly  simple  mental  experi- 
ence : consciousness  is  never  composed  of  a single  sensa- 
tion. Two  points  may  be  noticed.  (1)  On  the  one  hand, 
several  sensations,  from  different  sense  departments,  may 
be  combined  into  one  idea.  The  contributions  made  by 
a particular  sense  department  will,  it  is  true,  be  predomi- 
nant in  the  idea ; but  the  character  of  the  whole  process 
will  nevertheless  depend  upon  all  the  contributions  sent  in 
from  the  different  departments  concerned.  My  idea  of 
lemonade  is  predominantly  an  idea  of  taste.  But  taste 
alone  could  not  give  me  an  idea  of  lemonade ; there  must 
be  added  to  the  taste  qualities,  sweet  and  acid,  a pressure, 
a scent,  a colour,  a movement  of  gas-bubbles,  etc.  My 
idea  of  an  arm-chair  is  predominantly  visual,  a picture  of 
the  chair ; but  it  contains  also  the  idea  of  softness,  of  the 
sitting  position,  etc., — elements  of  movement  and  press- 
ure. (2)  On  the  other  hand,  not  every  sensation  is  called 
upon  to  assist,  in  equal  measure,  in  the  formation  of  every 
kind  of  idea.  There  is  a division  of  labour.  Thus  visual 
sensations,  which  have  the  attribute  of  extent,  are  pre- 
eminently concerned  in  the  formation  of  extensive  (spatial) 
ideas  ; auditory  sensations,  which  have  no  spatial  attribute, 
contribute  nothing  directly  to  our  ideas  of  space.  We 
‘ see  ’ how  far  off  a thing  is,  in  what  direction  it  lies,  how 
large  it  is,  what  form  it  has,  etc.  Auditory  sensations, 
however,  possess  a well-marked  duration ; they  begin 
abruptly  and  cease  abruptly  with  the  beginning  and  cessa- 
tion of  stimulus ; there  is  but  little  auditory  after-image. 
This  fact,  in  connection  with  the  impossibility  of  their 
spatial  arrangement,  gives  them  an  especial  fitness  to 


§ 43-  Sensation,  Perception  and  Idea  15 1 

arouse  temporal  ideas,  ideas  of  frequency,  succession, 
rhythm,  etc.  In  all  such  cases  we  have  the  elevation  of 
one  attribute  of  sensation  at  the  expense  of  others ; in  the 
cases  quoted,  quality,  the  core  or  * self  ’ of  the  sensation, 
becomes  subordinate  to  extent  or  duration  in  the  idea. 
In  others,  quality  may  be  the  predominant  attribute. 

We  shall  classify  ideas,  for  the  purposes  of  the  present 
chapter,  as  extensive,  temporal  and  qualitative.  And  we 
may  confine  ourselves  to  the  consideration  of  those  ideas 
which  are  built  up  from  sensations  of  pressure  (cutane- 
ous, articular  and  muscular),  of  tone  and  of  brightness. 
Pressure  gives  us  all  three  classes  of  ideas  in  their  earliest, 
most  rudimentary  form : the  eye  and  the  ear  furnish  the 
same  ideas  at  their  highest  level  of  development. 

The  two  primitive  sense  qualities  are,  in  all  probability,  those  of 
pressure  and  pain  (§  21).  Pain,  from  its  very  nature,  has  but  a 
small  part  to  play  in  the  formation  of  ideas.  Its  appearance  is 
an  indication  that  some  sense-organ  is  being  damaged,  and  it 
is  always  unpleasant.  Hence  a consciousness  composed  of  pain 
ideas  could  accompany  only  a pathological  bodily  state,  — a state 
of  localised  injury  and  general  nervous  deterioration,  a state  in 
which  catabolic  processes  had  the  upper  hand  in  a particular 
organ  and  in  the  nervous  system  generally.  If  this  bodily  state 
and  this  consciousness  were  of  frequent  occurrence,  the  organ- 
ism’s life  would  be  short.1 

Pressure,  on  the  other  hand,  may  be  expected  to  form  the 
foundation  for  all  classes  of  ideas.  It  is  a primitive  sensation, 

1 It  may  be  objected  that  invalids  whose  life  is  a continual  pain  often  live 
to  a good  old  age.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  they  are  cared  for  in  a 
way  which  is  unknown  to  the  lower  animals;  that  their  pain  is  mitigated  by 
medical  treatment;  and  that  they  are  capable  of  looking  forward  to  recovery 
(§  40),  while  the  animal  by  its  very  constitution  cannot  anticipate  the  future. 
“ While  there’s  life,  there’s  hope  ” holds  only  of  mankind,  because  mankind 
alone  can  form  a conscious  plan  of  life;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  fact 
that  hope  is  possible  robs  pain  of  a part  of  its  destructiveness. 


152 


Perception  and  Idea 


the  first  material  out  of  which  an  idea  can  be  shaped.  It  pos- 
sesses all  four  sensation  attributes  : quality,  intensity,  extent,  and 
duration.  And  its  quality  is  common  to  several  great  groups  of 
sensory  nerves,  — nerves  of  skin,  mucous  membrane,  muscle  and 
joint. 

We  find,  accordingly,  that  tactual  ideas  — ideas  built  up  from 
pressure  sensations,  .cutaneous  and  organic  — are  of  all  three 
kinds : extensive,  temporal  and  qualitative.  Since  it  is  endowed 
with  the  spatial  attribute  of  extent,  pressure  can  naturally  serve 
as  the  basis  of  the  various  spatial  ideas : ideas  of  size,  direction, 
form,  position,  etc.  Since  it  is  the  quality  aroused  by  movement 
of  a limb,  by  friction  of  the  articular  surfaces  against  each  other, 
it  can  serve  as  the  basis  of  temporal  ideas : ideas  of  rhythm,  of 
rapidity  of  movement,  etc.  And  though  it  is  not  qualitatively 
variable,  though,  i.e.,  it  remains  the  same  1 pressure  ’ whether  it 
proceed  from  muscle  or  joint  or  skin,  it  blends  with  other  quali- 
ties from  other  sense  departments  to  form  qualitative  ideas  : with 
organic  sensations  to  form  ideas  of  hardness,  resistance,  etc. 
(§  x 6 ) , with  taste  sensations  to  form  ideas  of  astringency,  pun- 
gency, etc.  (§  15). 

Vision  and  audition,  the  senses  which  are  richest  in  sensation 
qualities,  may  also  be  expected  to  give  rise  to  a great  variety 
of  ideas.  These  senses  stand  at  the  other  extreme  of  the  de- 
velopmental series  from  that  occupied  by  pressure  and  pain ; 
they  are  the  highest  products  of  mental  evolution  in  the  sphere 
of  sense.  Visual  and  auditory  ideas  are  cast  in  the  same  mould 
as  tactual,  formed  in  the  same  way  and  used  for  the  same  general 
purposes.  But  they  are  more  ‘ finished  ’ and  at  the  same  time 
more  comprehensive.  Whenever  a simultaneous  appeal  is  made 
to  the  two  groups,  the  final  decision  rests  with  vision  and  audition  : 
we  estimate  size  by  look,  and  not  by  ‘ feel  ’ ; we  take  our  rhythm 
in  dancing  from  the  music  rather  than  from  the  sensation  com- 
plexes set  up  by  bodily  movement. 

Having  considered  the  ideas  formed  from  the  most  simple  and 
the  most  highly  differentiated  sense  materials,  we  shall  have  no  need 
to  consider  any  others.  No  sensations,  except  those  of  sight  and 
pressure,  have  the  spatial  attribute  of  extent.  No  sensations,  ex- 


§ 43-  Sensation,  Perception  and  Idea  153 

cept  those  of  hearing  and  pressure,  possess  a well-marked  and 
clear-cut  duration.  No  other  sense,  not  even  that  of  smell,  is  so 
rich  in  qualities  as  are  vision  and  audition.  Hence  when  we  have 
discussed  our  three  groups  of  ideas  in  these  three  departments, 
we  shall  have  given  an  outline  of  the  formation  of  ideas  in 
general.1 * * 

‘ But  what  of  intensive  ideas  ? ’ it  may  be  asked.  4 If  the  attri- 
butes of  quality,  duration  and  extent  form  the  nucleus  round 
which  certain  ideas  gather,  why  cannot  intensity  serve  as  the 
nucleus  of  certain  other  ideas  ? ’ The  answer  is  to  be  found 
partly  in  the  nature  of  the  attributes  themselves,  partly  in  the 
adjustment  of  the  organic  functions  to  the  needs  of  practical 
life. 

Quality,  we  have  said,  is  the  absolute  and  individual  attribute 
of  sensation ; the  others  are  relative  or  comparative,  common  to 
all  sensations  alike  (§  26).  Quality,  then,  will  naturally  stand 
alone ; qualitative  ideas  are  a matter  of  course.  My  idea  of 
lemonade  is  an  idea  built  up  from  qualities  of  sensation ; it 
does  not  matter  how  long  those  qualities  last,  or  how  much 
lemonade  there  is,  or  into  how  wide  a glass  it  is  poured.  My 
perception  of  a musical  chord  is  qualitative,  again  ; duration  and 
intensity  do  not  occur  to  me,  as  I listen  to  it,  — or,  if  they  occur, 
are  entirely  subordinate  to  the  quality  of  the  total  impression. 
Lemonade  and  the  chord  c-e-g  are,  first  of  all,  themselves  (§  8)  ; 
they  are  not  so  much  of  something,  but  something,  different  from 
other  things. 

But  the  4 how  large  ’ and  4 how  long  ’ of  things  are  often  im- 
portant. Hence  extent  and  duration  are  made  absolute,  by 
reference  to  an  arbitrarily  selected  unit,  — centimetre,  second,  — 
for  the  purposes  of  everyday  life.  We  must  know  at  what  hour  a 
train  goes,  how  many  go  in  the  course  of  a day,  at  what  rate  they 
run,  etc.  We  must  know  how  many  miles  it  is  to  the  next  town, 

1 Sensations  of  temperature,  pain  and  muscular  pressure  are  probably  devoid 

of  the  attribute  of  extent.  They  often  enter  into  extensive  ideas,  however, 

owing  to  their  customary  connection  with  cutaneous  and  articular  pressures. 


154 


Perception  and  Idea 


in  what  direction  the  town  lies,  what  its  size  is,  how  its  streets 
are  planned,  etc.  The  temporal  and  spatial  attributes  of  sensa- 
tion thus  become,  as  it  were,  detached  in  the  idea  from  the  qualities 
which  they  accompany  : we  can  compare  the  distance  from  us  of 
a sight  and  a sound,  saying  that  “ that  voice  comes  from  the  other 
side  of  the  wall  ” ; we  can  compare  the  duration  of  a taste  and 
a pressure,  or  the  rate  of  recurrence  of  tones  and  flashes.  The 
qualities  are  here  irrelevant : duration  and  distance  are  in  the 
foreground. 

Intensity,  however,  has  not  been  able  to  shake  itself  free  of 
quality,  as  duration  and  extent,  ‘ time  ’ and  ‘ space,’  have  done. 
Intensity  is  always  thought  of  as  the  intensity  of  a particular 
quality;  it  would  be  meaningless  to  compare  the  intensities  of 
sunlight  and  thunder-clap.  Mankind  has  had  no  need  to  define 
intensity,  to  set  up  an  intensive  standard,  as  it  has  to  define  dura- 
tions and  extents..  It  is  enough,  in  most  cases,  to  know  that  a 
light  is  ‘ fairly  bright  ’ ; a taste  ‘ too  sweet  ’ ; a sound  ‘ exceedingly 
faint.’  Even  to-day  physics  has  no  satisfactory  unit  either  of  light 
or  of  sound.  Commerce  has,  it  is  true,  developed  a scale  of 
weights,  which  can  be  looked  upon  as  varying  intensities  of  press- 
ure or  of  the  complex  of  pressure  and  strain  ; and  we  accord- 
ingly possess  the  ideas  of  a ‘pound,’  a ‘kilogramme,’  etc.  But 
these  ideas  are  of  a very  simple  nature.  They  are  confined  to  a 
single  group  of  sensation  qualities,  and  their  names  hardly  denote 
more  than  degrees  of  sensation  intensity.  They  may,  therefore, 
be  left  out  of  account  here. 

I.  Extensive  Ideas 

§ 44.  Locality  or  Position.  — If  we  are  pressed  upon  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  body,  c.g.,  upon  arm  and  forehead,  we 
are  able  to  indicate  very  exactly,  even  when  the  eyes  are 
closed,  the  portion  of  skin  affected  : we  have  a clear  idea 
of  the  locality  of  cutaneous  pressure.  As  we  sit  looking 
at  the  wall  opposite  us,  we  have  an  equally  clear  idea  of 
the  position  of  each  of  the  repeated  patterns  of  the  paper. 


§ 44-  Locality  or  Position 


155 


And  again,  if  we  are  suddenly  required  to  shut  our  eyes 
and  describe  the  position  of  our  arms,  or  to  state  the  posi- 
tion of  some  part  of  our  body  which  we  cannot  see,  e.g., 
of  a leg  stretched  under  the  table,  we  find  no  difficulty  in 
the  task : we  can  form  a clear  idea  of  locality  or  position 
from  sensations  of  articular  pressure. 

Method. — - (1)  Two  methods  have  been  employed  to  test  the 
accuracy  of  cutaneous  localisation,  (a)  The  subject  sits,  with 
closed  eyes,  at  a low  table.  His  left  arm  is  laid  out,  palm 
upwards,  upon  the  table,  and  he  holds  a charcoal  pencil  in  his 
right  hand.  The  experimenter  has  a similar  pencil,  and  sets  it 
down  for  a moment  upon  the  subject’s  left  wrist : the  subject,  as 
soon  as  the  pressure  is  removed,  sets  his  own  pencil  down  upon 
the  same  wrist,  striking  as  nearly  as  possible  the  spot  previously 
stimulated.  Both  pencils  leave  a mark.  Hence  if  the  subject 
has  localised  inaccurately,  we  can  measure  the  amount  of  his 
mistake,  and  compare  it  with  the  mistakes  made  by  other  persons, 
or  by  the  same  individual  at  other  parts  of  the  skin,  (h)  The 
object  of  the  second  method  is  to  determine  how  accurately  we 
can  localise  within  one  and  the  same  area.  The  two  points  of 
a pair  of  drawing-compasses  are  set  down  together  upon  the 
skin.  If  the  distance  between  them  is  very  small,  they  are  not 
perceived  to  be  two,  but  are  taken  for  a single  point.  The 
distance  separating  them  must  be  gradually  increased.  With  a 
certain  separation,  they  are  perceived  to  be  two,  i.e.,  separately 
localised. 

When  the  points  are  applied  in  succession  (first  method),  the 
average  error  of  localisation  on  the  wrist  is  from  5 to  10  mm. 
The  subject  thinks  that  he  has  struck  the  spot  previously  stim- 
ulated, when  his  pencil  is  in  reality  this  small  distance  to  one  side 
of  the  spot.  The  distance  between  simultaneously  applied  com- 
pass points  (second  method)  which  enables  us  just  to  perceive 
their  difference,  i.e.,  to  localise  them  differently,  varies  for  different 
portions  of  the  skin  and  for  points  of  different  sharpness.  The 
results  obtained  by  the  use  of  exceedingly  fine  points  are  : on 


156 


Perception  and  Idea 


the  finger-tip,  .1  mm.  ; on  the  cheek,  .5  mm. ; on  the  upper  arm, 
.75  mm.;  on  the  back,  5 mm. 

(2)  The  just  noticeable  difference  of  visual  position  at  the 
centre  of  the  field  of  vision  would  be  that  of  objects  separated  by 
the  minimal  visual  extent,  .005  mm.  (§  24).  If  the  objects  are 
situated  in  the  outlying  portions  of  the  field,  and  their  position 
observed  in  ‘ indirect  vision,’  i.e.,  while  the  gaze  is  still  directed 
upon  the  central  portion,  our  discrimination  of  their  position  is 
far  less  accurate.  To  assure  yourself  of  this,  use  the  method 
described  in  § 24 ; but  hang  the  white  threads  at  the  right  or  left 
end  of  the  grey  screen,  while  you  look  steadily  at  a black  mark 
placed  at  its  centre. 

(3)  The  just  noticeable  difference  in  the  position  of  a limb, 
the  least  noticeable  difference  of  ‘ articular  position,’  is  smallest  in 
the  case  of  the  largest  joints.  By  the  shoulder  we  can  perceive  a 
difference  of  position  when  the  arm  has  been  moved  through  a dis- 
tance of  .2°;  by  the  wrist  no  difference  of  position  is  perceptible 
until  the  hand  has  moved  through  .3°  (the  degrees  are  degrees  of  arc 
described  by  the  moved  member  with  shoulder  or  wrist  as  centre). 
The  values  for  hip  and  ankle  are,  .5°  and  i°  respectively.  Special 
instruments  are  required  for  experiments  in  this  department ; the 
member  to  be  moved  must  be  laid  out  upon  a support,  and  the 
support  must  be  movable  in  various  directions  without  any  jar 
and  without  any  alterations  in  the  pressures  and  strains  proceeding 
from  the  supported  member  at  the  beginning  of  the  experiment. 

The  physiological  conditions  of  localisation  have  not  as 
yet  been  satisfactorily  made  out.  If  we  transplant  a piece 
of  skin  from  one  part  of  the  body  to  another,  the  trans- 
planted piece  carries  its  old  locality  with  it.  Thus  a piece 
turned  down  from  the  forehead  to  form  an  artificial  nose  still 
gives  rise,  for  some  little  time,  to  forehead-impressions.  Not 
till  it  has  thoroughly  settled  down  in  its  new  surroundings 
does  it  take  on  their  local  character.  In  the  same  way, 
the  displacement  of  a group  of  nervous  end-organs  from 


§ 44-  Locality  or  Position 


157 


one  part  of  the  retina  to  another  carries  with  it  a displace- 
ment of  objects  in  the  field  of  vision,  which  persists  until 
the  displaced  organs  have  taken  root  again,  and  acquired 
a new  local  value.  In  some  manner,  which  we  do  not  as 
yet  fully  understand,  the  sense-organ  mirrors,  in  its  differ- 
ent parts,  the  different  positions  of  external  objects. 

But  we  not  only  localise  : we  consciously  localise,  i.e.,  have 
an  idea  of  locality.  To  explain  this  fact  it  is  necessary 
to  assume  that  the  sensations  from  skin,  retina  and  articu- 
lar surface  possess  each  a certain  local  mark  or  local  sign, 
— some  conscious  peculiarity  which  gives  them  a definite 
space  value,  within  the  field  of  touch  or  vision.  Any  sen- 
sation from  these  three  organs  has,  as  a sensation,  inten- 
sity, quality,  extent  and  duration  ; as  a constituent  of  an 
extensive  idea,  it  must  possess  local  signature  as  well. 
What  the  local  sign  is,  in  any  given  case,  depends  upon 
mental  constitution. 

Local  Signs : (1)  Skin.  — Not  only  is  the  skin,  physiologically 
regarded,  a localising  organ  : the  organism  is  endowed  with  reflex 
localising  movements.  If  a spot  of  skin  is  irritated,  hand  or  foot 
moves  to  it  reflexly,  in  obedience  to  purely  physiological  laws. 
Out  of  this  unconscious  localisation  the  conscious  local  mark 
arises,  by  the  following  stages,  (a)  The  movement  of  hand  or 
foot,  though  reflexly  set  up,  occasions  organic  sensations  in  joint, 
tendon,  etc. ; so  that  definite  groups  of  organic  sensations  become 
connected  with  pressures  upon  particular  parts  of  the  body.  The 
local  sign  may  consist,  therefore,  of  remembered  organic  sensa- 
tions. (k)  The  reflex  movement  towards  the  irritated  spot  will 
usually  be  seen ; so  that  the  local  sign  may  contain  a visual  sensa- 
tion, a picture  of  the  part  touched,  as  well  as  organic  sensations. 
(c)  The  organic  sensations  may  pass  unnoticed,  owing  to  the 
habitual  nature  of  the  movement.  The  local  sign  of  a pressure 
will  then  be  a sensation  of  a quite  different  order,  — a sensation  of 


158  Perception  and  Idea 

sight,  (a)  Finally,  the  visual  picture  itself  may  disappear,  and 
its  place  be  taken  by  a word,  the  name  of  the  part  of  the  body 
pressed.  Often  enough,  when  we  say  that  we  remember  an  occur- 
rence, we  remember  only  the  form  of  words  which  describes  it. 
So  now,  when  I am  touched  upon  the  arm,  there  flashes  up  in  my 
mind  the  word  ‘ arm,’  and  this  word  is  the  local  sign  of  the 
pressure. 

Method.  — Have  yourself  touched  at  different  parts  of  the  skin. 
Introspect  very  carefully,  to  discover  of  what  processes  your  own 
system  of  local  signs  is  composed.  In  the  first  few  trials,  it  may 
seem  to  you  that  the  pressure  itself  has  a different  quality  in  the 
different  cases.  But  if  you  look  closely,  you  will  come  upon  the 
real  local  sign,  probably  a visual  picture  or  a word. 

Vision  is  not  essential  for  cutaneous  local  signature.  Those 
who  are  born  blind  acquire  an  idea  of  the  locality  of  pressures. 
Their  local  sign  may  be  ( a ) a complex  of  organic  sensations ; 
( 'b ) a tactual  map  or  picture  of  the  part  touched,  plus  the  organic 
sensations  ; (c)  the  tactual  map  alone  ; or  (d)  a word.  The  ‘ tac- 
tual picture  ’ is  aroused  and  perfected  by  movement  of  the  fingers 
over  the  touched  spot ; its  components  would  be  extent  of  press- 
ure,  i.e.,  the  distance  travelled  over  by  the  finger  before  it  came 
to  the  edge  of  limb  or  trunk,  certain  hardnesses  or  softnesses  of 
surface,  etc.  It  is  not  easy  for  us,  who  see,  to  form  an  idea  of 
such  a ‘ picture  ’ ; but  it  undoubtedly  exists. 

(2)  Joint.  — The  local  sign  is  here  either  ( a ) a complex  of 
organic  and  pressure  sensations,  aroused  by  the  tension  of  skin 
and  tendons  and  the  contraction  of  muscle ; (b)  a complex  of 
these  and  visual  sensations;  (c)  visual  sensations;  or  (d)  a word. 

(3)  Eye.  — It  has  been  suggested  that  the  original  local  marks 
of  the  retina  were  also  (a)  organic  sensations.  The  eyes  turn  re- 
flexly  towards  an  object  which  has  suddenly  appeared  in  the  field 
of  vision,  so  that  the  object  is  brought  opposite  to  the  centres  of 
the  retinae,  the  spots  of  clearest  vision.  These  reflex  movements 
would  give  rise  to  sensations  of  strain  and  contraction,  and  the 
local  mark  would  accordingly  become  conscious  in  the  form  of 
remembered  organic  sensations.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that 
these  sensations  are  capable  of  the  delicate  gradation  which  would 


§ 44-  Locality  or  Position  159 

be  necessary  if  they  were  to  form  the  basis  of  the  visual  idea  of 
locality.  We  know,  however,  (b)  that  the  same  stimulus  occasions 
different  sensations,  according  to  the  part  of  the  retina  upon  which 
it  acts.  What  is  red  to  the  centre  of  the  retina  becomes  bluish 
as  it  moves  outwards  from  the  centre,  and  finally,  at  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  field  of  vision,  passes  into  black.  AVe  do  not  notice 
any  differences  of  quality  within  a field  of  colour,  because  we  have 
often  moved  our  eyes  over  the  entire  surface  of  such  fields,  and 
thus  learned  that  objective  differences  do  not  exist.  But  it  may 
be,  nevertheless,  that  they  constitute  the  original  local  signature 
of  the  eye. 

These  ideas  of  locality  are  ideas  of  the  position  of  an 
impression  upon  an  extended  surface.  We  perceive  the 
place  of  a pressure  upon  the  surface  of  the  body,  the  posi- 
tion of  a particular  pattern  upon  the  extent  of  wall  before 
us,  the  position  of  a limb  within  a plane  of  movement. 
But  we  possess  other  ideas  of  locality,  ideas  of  the  position 
of  an  object  in  three-dimensional  space,  which  include  the 
idea  of  distance  from  our  own  body.  We  can  find  where 
a thing  is,  in  the  dark,  by  stretching  out  our  hand  towards 
it;  we  can  estimate  the  distance  of  a visual  object  from 
ourselves,  or  from  some  other  object  which  we  say  is  be- 
fore or  behind  it.  The  tactual  idea  of  locality,  in  this 
second  sense,  is  not  hard  to  explain ; the  visual  idea  has 
been  variously  accounted  for. 

The  Third  Dimension:  (1)  Tactual  Idea.  — The  tactual  idea 
of  distance  in  the  third  dimension  arises  from  the  connection  of 
extents  of  cutaneous  pressure  with  the  articular  sensations  called 
out  by  movement.  The  whole  body  or  a bodily  member  moves 
towards  the  object,  and  comes  into  contact  with  it.  Hence  we 
have  the  tactual  measures  of  distance,  — foot,  span,  cubit,  etc. 

(2)  Visual  Idea.  — The  corresponding  visual  idea  has  been 
explained  in  two  ways,  (a)  The  two  eyes  look  at  the  same 


160  Perception  and  Idea 

object  in  space  from  two  slightly  different  points  of  view.  We 
can  take  two  photographs  of  the  object  from  these  points  of  view, 
placing  a camera  where  each  eye  would  be.  Let  us  paste  these 
photographs  side  by  side  upon  a strip  of  cardboard,  and  lay  the 
strip  in  a stereoscope,  so  that  the  photograph  taken  by  the  right 
hand  camera  is  presented  to  the  right  eye  and  the  other  to  the 
left.  We  see  one  picture  only ; but  this  picture  is  very  different 
from  either  of  the  separate  photographs.  It  looks  solid  : we  have 
an  illusion  of  tridimensionality.  From  this  it  has  been  argued 
that  we  perceive  distance  because  the  pictures  formed  upon  the 
two  retinae  by  the  same  object  are  different ; and  that  we  perceive 
differences  of  distance,  because  the  differences  between  the  two 
pictures  increase  or  decrease,  according  as  the  object  is  near  or 
far.  On  this  view,  the  perception  of  tridimensional  space  follows 
directly  from  the  bodily  conditions  of  vision ; it  is  a necessary 
consequence  of  the  double  structure  and  single  function  of  the 
organ  of  sight.  Because  we  see  one  thing  with  two  eyes,  we  see 
it  as  a solid.  (£)  Another  hypothesis  lays  stress  upon  the  strain 
sensations  which  proceed  from  the  tendons  by  which  the  eye- 
muscles  are  attached  to  the  eyeball.  The  strain  sensations  differ 
in  intensity,  according  as  the  object  upon  which  the  eyes  are 
‘ converged,’  i.e.,  to  which  they  are  both  directed,  is  situated  at  a 
greater  or  less  distance  from  the  body.  The  nearer  the  object, 
the  greater  the  strain  of  ocular  convergence ; the  more  remote  the 
object,  the  less  the  strain.  In  this  way,  it  is  said,  intensities  of 
strain  furnish  a measure  of  the  amount  of  distance. 

Method.  — To  test  the  discrimination  of  the  eye  for  distances 
in  depth,  we  hang  a fine  black  thread  midway  between  the  face 
and  a white  screen  or  wall.  The  thread  is  gradually  moved  back- 
wards or  forwards,  by  an  assistant,  until  a difference  of  position 
(distance)  is  perceived.  The  subject  should  close  his  eyes  dur- 
ing the  interval  between  experiment  and  experiment,  and  during 
the  time  when  the  assistant  is  altering  the  position  of  the  thread 
in  a given  experiment.  On  opening  the  eyes,  he  should  look 
first  at  the  white  screen,  and  from  that  to  the  thread  : the  posi- 
tion of  the  eyes  and  strain  of  the  eye  muscles  will  thus  be  the 
same  at  the  beginning  of  each  experiment.  The  just  noticeable 


§ 44-  Locality  or  Position 


161 


difference  of  ocular  convergence  is  one-fiftieth  of  the  distance  of 
the  thread  from  the  observing  eyes  {cf.  the  expression  of  Weber’s 
law  for  strain  sensations  : §§27,  28).  It  is  noteworthy  that  with 
a very  slight  degree  of  ocular  convergence,  i.e.,  when  the  thread 
hangs  at  a considerable  distance  from  the  eye,  this  difference  of 
one-fiftieth  corresponds 
to  the  least  difference  of 
position  which  the  eye 
can  perceive  on  a plane 
surface.  In  concrete 
terms,  if  the  thread  is 
moved  from  a distance, 
say,  of  200  cm.  to  one 
of  196  cm.  (one-fiftieth 
nearer) , the  distance 
separating  the  two  pict- 
ures which  it  throws  on 
each  retina  in  its  two 
positions  is  .005  mm. 

{cf  Fig.  6). 

This  fact  seems  to 
show  that  the  sensations 
aroused  by  eye  move- 
ments are  capable  of 
serving  as  the  conscious 
local  signs  of  visual  sen- 
sations. 

It  is  impossible,  in  the  present  state  of  our  knowledge,  to  decide 
between  the  two  hypotheses  given  above.  It  may  be  that  both 
contain  a part  of  the  truth,  — that  eye  movement  is  the  primary 
factor  in  the  idea,  but  that  it  is  assisted  by  the  difference  between 
the  two  retinal  images.  Certainly,  the  importance  of  movement 
for  the  tactual  idea  of  locality  suggests  that  eye  movement  may 
be  of  similar  importance  in  the  sphere  of  sight.  And  the  number 
and  arrangement  of  the  twelve  eye  muscles  lead  us  to  ascribe 
some  important  functions  to  them,  — just  as  the  number  and 
arrangement  of  the  six  semicircular  canals  indicate  that  they  play 


Fig.  6. — The  eyes  are  converged  upon  the 
thread  a;  the  thread  throws  two  images 
upon  the  two  spots  of  clearest  vision,  c , c'. 
If  the  eyes  are  now  converged  upon  the 
thread  at  b , the  yellow  spots  will  move  to 
the  positions  </,  d' . Under  the  conditions 
stated  in  the  text,  when  the  distance  a-b  is 
one-fiftieth  of  the  total  distance  of  the  thread 
a from  the  eyes,  the  retinal  distances  c-d 
and  c'-d1  are  .005  mm. 


Perception  and  Idea 


162 

some  important  part  in  the  total  adjustment  of  the  organism  to 
its  surroundings.  The  circumstance  that  in  adult  life  we  pay  but 
little  attention  to  the  strain  sensations  aroused  within  the  eye 
sockets  does  not  count  for  much  : we  may  have  attended  to  them 
in  childhood,  i.e.,  at  a time  when  we  were  incapable  of  introspec- 
tion ; or  attention  to  them  may  date  still  farther  back,  to  an  earlier 
stage  in  the  evolution  of  organic  life.  Moreover,  as  our  experi- 
ence grows,  we  learn  to  infer  the  distance  of  an  object  by  means 
of  certain  indirect  or  secondary  criteria  (§  53),  so  that  when  the 
strain  sensations  had  done  their  work  they  would  naturally  be 
replaced  by  other  conscious  processes. 

Those  who  accept  the  hypothesis  of  eye  movement  as  correct 
declare  that  the  apparent  solidity  of  the  combined  stereoscopic 
pictures  is  not  due  to  the  bodily  conditions  of  vision.  It  is  not  a 
direct  consequence  of  the  fact  that  we  see  one  thing  with  two 
eyes,  but  rather  a matter  of  habitual  interpretation.  We  see  in 
the  stereoscope  a surface  of  broken  and  irregular  outline,  and  we 
construct  a solid  from  this  surface,  by  the  help  of  remembered 
eye  movements  or  of  the  secondary  criteria  just  now  referred  to. 

Vision  is  by  far  the  most  important  of  the  localising 
senses.  Our  idea  of  the  posture  or  attitude  of  our  body 
generally  takes  the  form  of  a mental  picture,  although  it 
might  have  been  built  up  from  articular  sensations;  and 
our  idea  of  the  locality  of  a pressure,  or  of  the  position  of 
an  object  which  we  ‘ feel’  in  the  dark,  is  as  a general  rule 
a visual  map  of  the  place  touched  or  of  the  object  among 
its  surroundings.  If  there  is  a conflict  between  the  tactual 
and  visual  ideas,  the  visual  wins,  — we  trust  our  eyes. 

Method.  — Cross  the  second  finger  of  the  right  hand  over  the 
forefinger,  so  that  the  top  joint  of  the  second  finger  points  to  the 
thumb.  Take  up  a marble  between  the  crossed  finger-tips.  You 
have  two  pressures  : one  from  the  right-hand  side  of  the  second 
finger,  and  one  from  the  left-hand  side  of  the  forefinger.  If  the 
fingers  were  occupying  their  normal  positions,  these  sides  could 


§ 45-  Form  and  Magnitude  163 

not  be  pressed  by  the  same  object;  and  therefore,  if  you  trust 
to  your  tactual  idea  of  locality,  you  must  suppose  that  you  are 
holding  not  one  marble,  but  two.  But  so  accustomed  are  we  to 
form  a mental  picture  of  what  we  are  touching,  that  you  will  not 
be  able  at  first  to  get  the  idea  of  two  objects  from  the  single 
marble,  if  you  yourself  take  it  up  between  your  fingers.  Close 
your  eyes,  and  let  an  assistant  put  the  marble  in  position  in  the 
course  of  a series  of  experiments-  with  stimuli  of  whose  nature 
you  are  not  informed.  Under  these  conditions  you  will  judge  that 
there  are  .two  objects  in  contact  with  your  skin;  and  having  thus 
formed  the  true  tactual  idea,  will  be  able  to  ‘ feel  ’ the  marble  as 
two  even  with  your  eyes  open.  But  you  regard  it,  of  course,  as 
one  marble  : the  evidence  of  sight  is  believed. 

This  experiment  is  as  old  as  Aristotle.  It  is  described  in  the 
Aristotelian  tract  “ On  Dreams,”  and  the  author  explains  it  just  as 
we  have  done,  remarking  that  “sight  stands  above  touch.” 

§45.  Form  and  Magnitude.  — Our  ideas  of  shape  and 
size  are,  like  those  of  position,  of  two  kinds : superficial, 
ideas  of  the  shape  and  size  of  pressures  on  the  skin  or 
patterns  on  a seen  surface,  and  tridimensional,  ideas  of 
the  shape  and  size  of  objects  in  space.  Vision  can  furnish 
both  kinds  of  ideas.  Skin  and  joint  together  give  us  ideas 
of  the  form  and  magnitude  of  objects  of  three  dimensions. 
The  skin  alone  cannot  do  this  ; if  we  had  no  eyes,  and  were 
unable  to  move,  our  ideas  of  form  and  size  would  be  super- 
ficial only. 

A ‘ form  ’ is  an  extent  which  is  bounded  or  limited  in  a 
certain  way.  When  we  look  at  a black  mark  on  a grey 
surface,  the  boundary  lines  of  the  black  mark  naturally  at- 
tract our  attention : it  is  there  that  the  contrast  between 
the  two  qualities  begins  (§  38).  As  the  eye  follows  differ- 
ent boundary  lines,  it  traverses  different  distances  and  rests 
at  points  of  different  position.  Different  names  have  been 


Perception  and  Idea 


164 

given  to  the  impressions  which  call  forth  in  this  way  dif- 
ferent complexes  of  sensation  in  and  about  the  eye : circle, 
square,  cross,  etc.  The  differences  between  the  stimuli 
are  differences  of  form. 

‘ Size  ’is  ‘so  much  ’ of  a certain  form.  One  square  is 
twice  the  size  of  another  when  the  extent  comprised  within 
its  boundary  lines  is  twice  the  extent  comprised  within  the 
quite  similar  boundary  lines  of  the  other  figure. 

(1)  Superficial  Ideas. — ( a ) The  cutaneous  idea  of  form  can 
be  tested  by  applying  to  the  skin  surfaces  of  different  shapes 
(squares,  circles,  etc.,  cut  from  wood  or  hard  rubber).  It  has 
been  found,  e.g.,  that  a triangular  surface,  if  applied  to  the  tip  of 
the  tongue,  must  have  sides  of  3.5  mm.  length,  if  applied  to  the 
tip  of  the  middle  finger,  sides  of  7 mm.  length,  if  it  is  to  give  rise 
to  the  idea  of  a triangle. 

To  test  the  cutaneous  estimation  of  size,  apply  a series  of  circles, 
triangles,  etc.,  of  gradually  increasing  size,  to  some  part  of  the  skin. 
Two  circles  are  of  just  noticeably  different  size  for  the  tip  of  the 
tongue  if  their  diameters  are  .5  and  1 mm.  respectively. 

The  ‘ cutaneous  size  ’ of  a surface  is  less  than  its  ‘ visual  size. 
When,  that  is,  we  think  of  the  surface  in  terms  of  a passive  press- 
ure upon  the  skin,  we  think  of  it  as  smaller  than  it  ‘ looks.’ 

( b ) The  visual  idea  of  superficial  form  was  originally  gained  by 
the  help  of  movement,  whether  of  the  eye  itself  or  of  the  stimulus. 
Either  the  eye  moved  along  the  boundary  lines  of  the  figure,  or 
the  figure,  contained  within  its  boundary  lines,  moved  across  the 
otherwise  unchanged  field  of  vision.  After  a time,  these  move- 
ments became  unnecessary.  The  practised  retina  is  able  to  dis- 
tinguish shape  at  a glance  (§  53). 

The  just  noticeable  difference  of  visual  size  can  be  determined 
by  a method  similar  to  that  described  in  § 24,  except  that,  in 
place  of  threads,  figures  cut  from  cardboard  must  be  used. 

(2)  Tridimensional  Ideas. — (a)  The  tactual  idea  of  form, 
an  idea  derived  from  the  connection  of  sensations  from  skin 
and  joint,  is  capable  of  a high  degree  of  development.  The 


§ 45-  Form  and  Magnitude  165 


blind,  as  is  well  known,  read  a ‘ raised  print  ’ easily  and  accu- 
rately. 

(/>)  The  visual  idea  of  tridimensional  form  is  made  up  of  the 
idea  of  superficial  form  plus  the  perception  of  distance. 

The  ‘ tactual  size  ’ of  an  object  is  generally  larger  than  its 
‘visual  size’;  an  object  ‘feels’  to  the  moving  hand  larger  than 
it  looks.  The  tactual  idea  itself  differs,  according  to  the  member 
by  whose  aid  the  estimate  is  made.  The  cavity  of  a hollow  tooth 
seems  greater  to  the  tongue  than  it  does  to  the  finger.  To  both, 
it  is  greater  than  it  is  to  the  eye. 

The  visual  idea  of  the  form  and  size  of  an  object  is  most  prompt 
and  certain  when  the  boundary  lines  of  the  object  are  unbroken  ; 
the  tactual  idea,  when  they  are  broken.  An  object  in  the  field 
of  vision  stands  up  more  distinctly  from  its  surroundings  if  its 
outline  is  continuous ; but  a tactual  form  stands  out  most  dis- 
tinctly from  its  background  if  the  outline  is  interrupted.  Test 
this  by  trying  to  read,  with  your  finger-tips,  two  sentences,  one 
printed  in  ordinary  raised  print,  the  other  in  the  dotted  blind- 
print.  It  is  easier  to  ‘ feel  ’ a raised  P when  it  is  printed  j * than 
when  it  is  printed  in  the  form  P. 


There  are  two  special  questions  which  call  for  notice  under  the 
head  of  the  visual  idea  of  form.  These  are  the  questions  of  the 
continuity  of  the  field  of  vision,  and  of  the  re-inversion  of  vision. 

(1)  The  Blind  Spot.  — When  we  look  out  over  a landscape,  we 
see  it  as  an  unbroken  expanse.  The  field  of  vision  is  continuous  ; 
there  is  nowhere  any  interruption  of  outline,  any  gap  in  the  series 
of  impressions.  Yet  the  retina  is  not  sensitive  over  its  whole  sur- 
face. Like  the  skin  (§  16),  it  is  a mosaic  of  sensitive  points. 
And  the  retinal  mosaic,  unlike  the  cutaneous,  has  within  it  one 
very  large  area  which  is  altogether  insensitive,  — the  place  of 
entry  of  the  optic  nerve. 

Method.  • — It  is  easy  to  assure  yourself  that  you  are  blind  to 
certain  stimuli  in  the  field  of  vision.  Seat  yourself  at  a con- 
venient distance  from  a white  screen.  Close  the  right  eye,  and 
keep  the  left  steadily  directed  towards  a small  black  disc  pasted 
upon  the  screen.  Let  an  assistant  move  a similar  black  disc,  held 


1 66  Perception  and  Idea 

upon  a light  rod,  slowly  across  the  screen,  starting  from  the  point 
of  regard,  and  travelling  towards  your  left.  At  first,  as  you  look 
at  the  fixed  disc,  you  will  see  both  that  and  the  other  : the  first 
in  direct  and  the  second  in  indirect  vision.  But  after  a little 
time,  the  moving  disc  will  suddenly  disappear.  Yet  it  has  not 
passed  beyond  the  limits  of  the  field  of  vision ; for  if  the  assist- 
ant move  it  still  further  to  your  left,  there  comes  a point  where 
it  as  suddenly  reappears.  The  distance  from  point  of  disap- 
pearance to  point  of  reappearance  is  the  breadth  of  the  blind 

spot ; this  can  be 
marked  in  pencil  up- 
on the  screen.  The 
form  of  the  blind  area 
can  be  determined 
by  moving  the  black 
disc  along  all  the  va- 
rious meridians,  ver- 
tical and  oblique,  and 
marking  on  the  screen 
all  points  of  disap- 
pearance and  reap- 
pearance. 

Plainly,  then,  there  is  here  a problem  to  be  solved.  The  field 
of  vision  is  broken ; yet,  in  ordinary  life,  we  do  not  perceive  that 
it  is  broken.  Two  explanations  have  been  offered,  (a)  ‘ At 
the  blind  spot,’  it  is  said,  ‘ we  do  not  see  anything.  If  we  saw  a 
hole  or  gap  in  the  field  of  vision  we  should  be  seeing  something. 
As  we  see  nothing,  the  field  must  appear  to  be  unbroken.’  This 
explanation  might  be  accepted,  were  there  not  experimental  obser- 
vations which  tell  against  it.  For  instance  : we  can  estimate  the 
distance  between  two  points  whose  retinal  images  lie  on  either 
side  of  the  blind  spot  as  well  as  we  can  that  between  any  other 
two  points  seen  in  indirect  vision.  Now  if  the  explanation  just 
given  were  correct,  the  two  edges  of  the  blind  spot  ought  to  come 
together,  and  two  points  lying  one  on  either  side  of  the  spot  to  be 
brought  so  much  nearer  each  other.  Since  the  blind  spot  does 
not  interfere  with  our  estimation  of  visual  extent,  the  space  in  the 


Fig.  7.  — Blind  spot  of  the  author’s  left  eye. 
Reduced  from  a large  diagram,  in  which  the 
distance  from  the  inner  edge  of  the  point  of 
fixation,  a,  to  the  inner  edge  of  the  blind  spot 
was  54.5  cm.  The  distance  of  the  point  of  fixa- 
tion from  the  eye,  in  the  experiments,  was  2\  m. 


§45-  Form  and  Magnitude 


167 


field  of  vision  to  which  it  corresponds  must  be  somehow  filled  up. 
This  can  be  shown,  again,  in  the  following  way.  If  we  look  at 
a printed  page,  under  such  conditions  that  the  words  at  its  centre 
fall  upon  the  blind  spot,  we  find  that  though  the  central  words 
are  not  legible,  there  is  visible  in  their  place  a hazy  whiteness. 
Something  is  seen,  though  the  something  does  not  agree  with  the 
stimuli  actually  presented.  ( b ) Evidently,  then,  the  blind  spot 
is  blind  only  to  peripheral  impressions  ; the  area  which  it  occupies 
in  the  field  of  vision  is  filled  up  by  centrally  aroused  sensations, 
of  the  same  general  character  as  those  aroused  in  the  peripheral 
organ  — sensations  of  greyish  white,  if  we  are  looking  at  a printed 
page,  of  red  if  we  are  looking  at  a red  surface,  etc.  The  reason 
for  these  central  sensations  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  eyes 
can  move.  We  have  only  to  sweep  our  eyes  over  the  printed 
page  to  discover  that  it  is  an  unbroken  surface  ; we  can  read  con- 
secutively from  the  top  line  to  the  bottom.  We  have  moved  our 
eyes  over  visual  surfaces  so  often  that  we  cannot  help  thinking  of 
them  as  continuous ; and  this  thought  is  confirmed  in  every-case 
of  actual  movement.  Here,  as  in  many  other  cases,  we  have 
lost  sight  of  the  conditions  under  which  the  idea  grew  up,  and 
look  upon  the  continuity  of  the  visual  field  as  a fact  of  direct 
perception. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  explanation  is  correct,  and 
that  eye  movement  accounts  for  the  filling  up  of  the  blind  area. 
There  is  another  circumstance,  however,  which  assists  eye  move- 
ment in  its  task.  The  blind  spots  do  not  occupy  the  same  posi- 
tion in  the  two  eyes  : so  that,  when  we  look  with  both  eyes  at 
a landscape,  the  part  to  which  one  eye  is  blind  is  seen  by  the 
other.  This  fact  makes  the  continuity  of  the  field  a matter  of 
course,  when  both  eyes  are  used.  But  it  is  not  sufficient  to 
explain  all  the  facts  : it  does  not  explain  the  continuity  of  a field 
seen  with  only  one  eye. 

(2)  Reinverted  Vision.  — The  rays  of  light  proceeding  from 
an  object  in  the  field  of  vision  do  not  pass  straight  through  the 
pupil  to  the  retina,  but  cross  at  a point  within  the  eyeball,  and 
thus  form  upon  the  retina  an  inverted  image.  Since  this  fact  has 
been  known,  the  question  has  often  been  asked : How  is  it  that 


Perception  and  Idea 


1 68 

we  see  objects  the  right  way  up?  How  does  it  come  about  that 
the  retinal  image,  which  is  upside  down,  is  set  right  again, 
re  inverted  ? 

The  answer  is  that  we  do  not  see  what  goes  on  in  our  eyes,  but 
what  is  set  before  us  in  space  : just  as  we  do  not  hear  what  goes 
on  in  our  ears,  but  hear  the  sound  which  is  outside  of  the  ear. 
Mankind  saw  things  the  right  way  up  long  ages  before  any  man 
knew  anything  of  the  disposal  of  light  rays  upon  the  retina.  We 
learn  the  up  and  the  down  of  things  by  experience  : that  is  up, 
which  is  where  our  head  is ; that  is  down,  which  is  where  our  feet 
are.  The  retinal  image  need  be  no  more  like  the  thing  seen  than 
the  shake  of  the  fibre  of  the  basilar  membrane  is  like  the  sound 
heard,  or  the  chemical  action  of  salt  upon  the  tongue  like  the 
taste  of  salt  in  the  mouth. 

The  disposal  of  light  rays  upon  the  retina  becomes  important 
only  when  we  wish  to  examine  the  mechanism  of  the  eye  as  a 
piece  of  physical  apparatus.  We  find,  either  by  examining  an- 
other person’s  eye  with  a special  instrument,  or  by  constructing 
an  artificial  eye  of  lenses  and  ground  glass  (a  camera),  that  the 
‘ image  ’ formed  by  the  entering  rays  is  inverted.  It  is  a physical 
necessity  that  this  be  the  case,  if  the  eye  is  to  serve  the  purposes 
of  vision,  i.e.,  if  it  is  to  ‘ work  ’ as  an  optical  instrument.  But  the 
fact  is  irrelevant  to  psychology.  Nobody  has  ever  seen  his  own 
retinal  ‘ image.’ 

§ 46.  Extent  of  Movement.  — Movement  is  a continuous 
change  of  position.  The  materials  for  the  idea  of  move- 
ment are,  therefore,  in  part  the  same  as  those  for  the  idea 
of  locality.  Our  idea  of  movement  is  made  up,  in  part,  of 
the  ideas  of  an  object  in  different  positions.  The  other 
factor  in  the  idea  of  movement  is  the  persistence  of  sen- 
sation after  the  cessation  of  stimulus.  By  the  help  of 
an  after-image  or  of  memory  we  are  able  to  perceive  an 
object,  as  it  were,  in  two  places  at  once : in  the  place 
which  it  has  just  left,  and  in  the  place  to  which  it  has 


§ 46.  Extent  of  Movement 


169 


just  come.  Here  we  have  the  sense-material  for  the  con- 
tinuity of  change  of  position  which  the  idea  of  movement 
includes. 

Our  idea  of  movement  is  an  idea  which  is  at  once  exten- 
sive and  temporal.  Every  movement  is  a movement  so 
far,  and  also  a movement  during  a certain  time.  Move- 
ment has  extent,  and  is  therefore  an  extensive  idea ; it  has 
rate  or  rapidity,  and  is  therefore  a temporal  idea. 

Our  estimation  of  the  extent  of  movement  may  be 
founded  upon  sensations  from  skin,  joint  or  eye. 

(1)  Skin.  — As  a stimulus  moves  over  the  surface  of  the  skin, 
it  arouses  sensations  of  different  local  signature.  Each  of  these 
sensations  lasts  for  a short  time  after  the  removal  of  the  stimulus  ; 
but  the  after-image  of  pressure  is  very  brief,  — too  brief  to  be  of 
much  assistance  to  us  in  forming  an  idea  of  the  distance  passed 
over  by  the  stimulus.  On  the  other  hand,  we  can  remember  each 
impression,  for  a little  while,  with  great  accuracy.  Our  estimation 
of  the  extent  of  movement,  in  purely  cutaneous  terms,  is  restricted 
to  movements  of  stimulus  which  are  either  so  short  or  so  quick 
that  the  first  local  sign  has  not  lapsed  from  consciousness  when 
the  last  is  reached.  In  all  other  cases,  we  are  either  entirely  un- 
certain as  regards  the  extent  of  movement,  or  make  our  estimation 
in  terms  not  of  pressure  but  of  sight. 

The  stimulus  must  pass  from  local  sign  to  local  sign,  i.e.,  travel 
a certain  distance,  before  its  movement  is  remarked  at  all.  And 
if  the  pressure  is  very  light,  or  the  movement  very  slow,  we  may 
have  no  idea  of  movement ; the  first  local  sign  may  be  forgotten 
when  the  next  is  reached.  The  distance  passed  over  on  the  fore- 
arm before  movement  is  noticed  may  amount  to  10  mm. 

Method. — Move  a charcoal  point  lightly  in  different  directions 
over  the  skin  of  wrist  or  forearm,  keeping  the  rate  of  movement 
as  uniform  as  you  can.  Measure  the  distance  which  the  point 
travels,  in  each  case,  before  the  subject  cries  out  that  it  is  moving. 
The  distance  will  be  greater  if  you  move  it  upwards  or  downwards 
than  if  you  move  it  across  the  limb.  This  is  because  localisation, 


170 


Perception  and  Idea 


conscious  or  unconscious  (physiological),  is  less  accurate  upon 
the  long  axis  of  the  body;  the  local  signs  are  less  thickly  strewn, 
so  to  speak,  than  they  are  upon  the  short  axis.  And  this,  in  its 
turn,  is  because  we  increase  more  in  height  than  in  breadth  as  we 
grow  : we  grow  ‘ up.’  Hence  the  nerve-endings  in  the  skin  are 
pulled  further  apart  in  the  up  and  down  directions  than  they  are 
in  the  transverse. 

(2)  Joint.  — The  idea  of  movement  which  is  derived  from 
articular  sensations  is  always  the  idea  of  a movement  of  our  own 
body  or  some  part  of  it.  The  just  noticeable  extent  of  movement 
is,  of  course,  the  distance  which  the  limb  must  travel  to  arrive  at 
a just  noticeably  different  position  (§  44). 

Method.  — Lay  a board,  about  50  cm.  long  and  15  cm.  wide, 
upon  a low  table.  Place  the  forearm,  palm  upwards,  upon  the 
board,  with  the  elbow  projecting  just  beyond  its  near  end.  Close 
your  eyes.  Let  an  assistant  raise  the  far  end  very  carefully  and 
gradually.  Measure  the  height  from  the  table  to  which  the  board 
may  be  raised  before  you  have  any  perception  of  movement  from 
the  elbow-joint.  To  avoid  jar  at  starting,  it  is  best  to  have  the 
near  end  of  the  board  hinged  to  the  table,  and  its  far  end  raised 
by  a cord  running  through  a pulley. 

(3)  Eye.  — The  visual  idea  of  extent  of  movement  is  differ- 
ently formed,  according  as  the  eyes  themselves  move  or  remain 
stationary. 

( a ) If  the  eyes  are  fixed,  visual  movement,  like  cutaneous,  can 
be  estimated  only  in  cases  where  the  sensations  first  aroused,  or 
their  after-images  or  memories,  are  still  running  their  course  in 
consciousness  when  the  last  make  their  appearance.  The  eye  has, 
here  as  always,  the  advantage  of  the  skin  : retinal  sensations  per- 
sist in  after-images  far  longer  than  cutaneous,  and  after-images  are 
more  reliable  than  memories. 

The  just  noticeable  movement,  for  the  unmoved  eyes,  is  the 
same  as  the  just  noticeable  difference  of  visual  position  (§  44). 

( b ) But  the  head  or  eyes  may  move,  following  the  moving 
stimulus.  In  this  case,  the  retinal  image  of  the  object  is  kept 
constantly  upon  the  same  portion  of  the  retina,  instead  of  passing 
from  one  portion  to  another.  Here,  the  estimation  of  movement 


§ 4 6.  Extent  of  Movetnent  171 

is  of  the  articular  type  : the  eyes  turn  in  their  sockets,  or  the  head 
upon  the  shoulders,  as  the  forearm  turns  in  the  elbow-joint. 

Estimation  in  terms  of  eye  movement  is  very  uncertain,  unless 
there  is  somewhere  in  the  field  of  vision  a fixed  point,  to  which  we 
may  refer  when  making  it.  The  fixed  point  serves  the  same  pur- 
pose under  these  circumstances  as  the  persistence  of  the  first 
sensation  does  when  the  eyes  are  not  moved,  or  when  we  are  form- 
ing our  idea  from  cutaneous  sensations.  In  the  latter  cases,  the 
stimulus  is  spread  over  all  points  of  its  course  at  once  : the  move- 
ment, from  starting-point  to  finish,  is  filled  up  with  memory,  after- 
image or  peripheral  sensation.  In  the  present  instance  we  have 
the  fixed  object  as  starting-point,  and  the  final  position  of  the 
moving  object  as  finishing-point;  while  the  fact  of  movement  it- 
self is  perceived  from  the  series  of  pressure  sensations  aroused  by 
the  turn  of  the  eyeballs  in  their  sockets,  and  of  strain  sensations 
aroused  by  changes  of  ocular  convergence. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  eye  movement,  which  is  so  important 
in  other  connections  (eye  measurement  and  convergence),  should 
prove  to  be  of  such  slight  assistance  in  the  formation  of  the  idea 
of  the  extent  of  movement.  In  reality,  it  is  just  because  of  these 
other  functions  that  the  strain  sensations  are  unable  to  help  us 
now.  In  eye  measurement,  the  eye  moves  from  a fixed  point  and 
sweeps  over  a line  ; in  convergence,  the  eyes  rest  upon  a certain 
fixed  point  at  a definite  distance  from  the  body.  If  we  take  away 
the  fixed  point,  as  beginning  or  finishing  point  of  movement,  the 
sensations  set  up  around  the  eyeball  are  uncertain  guides.  Move- 
ments of  the  eyes  to  and  fro  are  very  frequent,  and  very  rarely 
remarked.  Hence  without  the  fixed  point  of  reference  we  may 
make  grave  mistakes,  even  if  we  base  our  idea  upon  the  true  artic- 
ular sensations  produced  by  rotation  of  the  head  : unnoticed  move- 
ments of  the  eyes  may  have  added  something  to  or  subtracted 
something  from  the  result  of  head  movement. 

Method.  — The  following  experiment  shows  the  uncertainty  of 
estimation  of  extent  of  movement  when  the  eyes  are  allowed  to 
move,  in  the  absence  of  a fixed  point  of  reference.  Seat  your- 
self in  a dark  room.  An  assistant  holds  a dark  lantern,  by  which 
he  can  throw  a faint  spot  of  light  on  the  wall  before  you.  The 


172 


Perception  and  Idea 


spot  is  shown  at  irregular  intervals  and  for  different  lengths  ol 
time;  sometimes  it  is  still,  sometimes  moved  slowly  to  or  fro. 
You  will  find  that  your  judgments  of  its  stationariness  and  move- 
ment are  frequently  incorrect. 

II.  Temporal  Ideas 

§ 47.  Rhythm.  — When  we  walk,  we  have  a regular 
alternation  of  strong  and  weak  sensation  complexes.  We 
are  resting,  perhaps,  on  the  left  foot.  This  means  a mass 
of  strong  pressures  on  the  sole  of  that  foot,  a severe  press- 
ure in  knee  and  hip,  etc.  The  right  foot  swings  forward. 
This  means  a complex  of  weak  pressures  (after-images, 
pressure  of  boot)  from  the  sole  of  that  foot,  and  a per- 
ception of  movement  — with  relaxation  of  pressure,  how- 
ever— in  knee  and  hip.  The  right  foot  is  then  set  down: 
strong.  The  left  leg  swings  forward : weak.  The  left 
foot  comes  down  again:  strong,  — and  so  on.  A similar 
alternation  is  observable  in  respiration.  We  inspire, 
short ; expire,  long ; inspire,  short ; etc.  These  alterna- 
tions of  strong  and  weak,  long  and  short  sensation  com- 
plexes are  the  basis  of  the  idea  of  rhythm. 

The  auditory  idea  of  rhythm  has  been  far  more  highly 
developed  than  the  tactual.  We  cannot  listen  to  any  fairly 
rapid  succession  of  sounds  without  putting  rhythm  into 
it  (§  42).  Sounds  are,  indeed,  better  material  for  the  idea 
of  rhythm  than  are  tactual  complexes ; for  the  limbs  are 
fixed  to  the  trunk,  and  can  therefore  do  no  more  than 
oscillate  to  and  fro,  pendulum  fashion,  giving  of  necessity 
the  most  rudimentary  form  of  rhythm,  — beat'  beat,  beat' 
beat,- — -whereas  a series  of  sounds  can  be  divided  into 
groups  of  any  complexity.  The  rhythm  : beat"  beat  beat, 
beat'  beat  beat,  beat"  beat  beat,  beat'  beat  beat,  could 


§ 4 7-  Rhythm 


1 73 


not  be  formed  from  tactual  impressions,  but  is  easily  con- 
structed when  we  have  a succession  of  free  stimuli,  and 
can  place  the  changes  of  intensity  at  any  desired  point 
in  the  succession. 


Hence  it  is  intelligible  that,  in  cases  of  conflict,  auditory  rhythm 
should  outweigh  tactual.  When  we  think  of  the  rhythm  of  walk- 
ing, we  do  so  as  a rule  under  the  form  : left'  right,  left'  right, 
etc.,  and  not  under  the  form  : press'  swing,  press'  swing,  etc.,  as 
given  above.  This  is  because  we  think  of  walking  in  terms  of 
hearing,  we  listen  to  an  imaginary  march.  The  swing  is  noiseless ; 
and  the  accent  is  consequently  placed  upon  one  of  the  two  treads. 

The  simplest  auditory  rhythms  are  successions  of  two  or  three 
beats,  one  of  which  is  stronger  than  the  other  or  than  the  other 
two.  The  poetical  ‘feet,’  iambus,  trochee,  dactyl  and  anapaest,  are 
instances  of  the  four  possible  forms  which  these  simplest  rhythms 
may  take  : _w,_ww,  ww — The  musical  ‘ measure,’ which 

corresponds  to  the  poetical  foot,  may  be  far  more  complicated. 
Thus  we  may  have  twelve  impressions,  accented  as  follows  : 


in  music  written,  perhaps, 


ff  p pf  P pf  P 


or  accented  in  this  way  : 


in  music  written,  perhaps, 


f PP  pp  p pp  pp  pf  pp  pp 


p pp  pp 

P P 9 

I I I 


174 


Perception  and  Idea 


i.e.,  a succession  of  four  or  six  simple  rhythmical  forms,  with  foul 
degrees  of  accent  or  intensity. 

Above  the  foot  stands  the  line  or  verse ; and  above  the  measure 
the  phrase.  These  represent  a further  development  of  the  audi- 
tory idea  of  rhythm  ; they  are  rhythmical  wholes,  just  as  are  the 
foot  or  measure,  but  rhythmical  wholes  of  a higher  order.  Neither 
can  contain  more  than  six  feet  or  measures  : a seven-footed  line  or 
a seven-measured  phrase  falls  to  pieces,  ceases  to  be  rhythmical. 

Once  more  : above  the  verse  comes  the  stanza ; and  above  the 
phrase  stands  the  period.  These  are  rhythmical  wholes  of  a still 
higher  order.  Neither  can  contain  more  than  five  verses  or 
phrases;  as  a general  rule,  neither  contains  more  than  four. 

Method.  — Set  a metronome  beating,  with  an  interval  of  about 
a quarter  of  a second  between  stroke  and  stroke.  Try  to  throw 
the  beats  into  all  the  different  possible  rhythms,  trochaic,  iambic, 
etc.  You  will  find  it  quite  easy  to  change  from  rhythm  to  rhythm, 
especially  if  you  use  movement  to  assist  you, — moving  foot  or 
hand  when  the  beats  come  which  you  wish  to  emphasise.  Then 
see  how  complex  a foot  or  measure  you  can  construct  in  the  vari- 
ous rhythms. 

We  found  in  § 42  that  the  attention  could  grasp  40  metronome 
beats  as  a single  whole,  if  these  were  apprehended  as ' 5 impres- 
sions of  8 beats  each.  This  is  the  extreme  range  of  attention, 
under  experimental  conditions.  The  measure  or  foot  is  here  a 
trochee;  the  verse  or  phrase  contains  four  feet  or  measures 
accented  as  follows  : 


and  the  stanza  or  period  contains  five  verses  or  phrases. 

§ 48.  Rate  of  Movement.  — Our  estimation  of  the  rate, 
as  of  the  extent,  of  movement  may  be  founded  upon  sensa- 
tions from  skin,  joint  or  eye.  It  is  a general  rule,  in  all 
three  sense  departments,  that  quick  movement  is  more 
readily  perceived  than  slow. 


§ 48.  Rate  of  Movement 


175 


(1)  Skin.  — A stimulus  which  travels  at  a uniform  rate  over 
the  skin  does  not  give  rise  to  the  idea  of  uniform  movement. 
We  take  the  movement  to  be  quicker  at  parts  of  the  skin  upon 
which  localisation  is  accurate  than  at  parts  where  it  is  inaccurate. 
In  the  former  case  more  local  signs  are  aroused  in  the  time  occu- 
pied by  the  movement ; the  movement  has  a more  varying  con- 
tents. A more  diversified  contents  in  a fixed  time  is  perceived  as 
a greater  rapidity  of  movement  during  that  time. 

Method.  — Draw  a pencil  point  at  a uniform  rate  from  shoulder 
do  finger-tips.  Its  movement  will  appear  to  quicken  and  slacken 
jls  it  passes  over  areas  of  greater  and  less  localising  power. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  a thread  be  drawn  by  an  assistant  between 
your  forefinger  and  thumb,  at  first  quickly  and  then  more  slowly, 
you  will  not  know  that  the  same  length  of  thread  has  been  em- 
ployed : the  thread  will  seem  to  be  shorter  in  the  first  experiment 
than  in  the  second.  If  it  is  pulled  quickly,  you  receive  no  clear 
impressions  from  its  irregularities ; you  have  one  blurred  impres- 
sion. If  it  is  pulled  slowly,  you  perceive  all  the  roughnesses  and 
unevennesses  of  its  surface ; the  movement  has  a more  diversified 
contents.  Here,  diversified  contents  in  a longer  time  is  inter- 
preted as  a greater  extent  of  thread. 

(2)  Eye.  — The  eye  can  just  perceive  a movement,  in  direct 
vision,  if  its  rate  is  that  of  .0028  mm.  in  the  second. 

It  is  difficult  to  compare  the  rapidity  of  two  movements,  to  say 
which  is  the  quicker  and  which  the  slower,  if  the  movements  are 
at  all  quick.  The  after-images  of  the  moving  stimulus  persist  so 
long  as  to  render  an  estimation  almost  impossible. 

(3)  Joint.  — All  that  we  know  of  the  rapidity  of  articular  move- 
ment is  the  general  fact  stated  above.  Quick  movements  are 
more  readily  noticed  than  slow.  This  can  be  shown  by  the  help 
of  the  apparatus  described  in  § 46. 

The  following  plan  might  be  followed  to  test  how  accurately  we 
can  compare  the  rate  of  articular  movements.  Lay  the  right  hand 
upon  a low  table.  Bend  the  three  last  fingers  and  the  thumb, 
leaving  only  the  forefinger  extended.  Insert  the  tip  of  this  finger 
in  a metal  cap,  which  is  carried  upon  a smoothly  running  wheel. 
The  wheel  must  be  run  by  clockwork,  or  by  weights  hung  belovy 


176 


Perception  and  Idea 


the  table ; and  its  speed  must  be  variable,  and  known  in  each 
experiment.  Let  an  assistant  set  it  so  that  it  carries  the  finger 
over  the  same  distance  in  two  successive  movements,  but  at  dif- 
ferent rates.  Find  the  smallest  difference  of  rate  which  is  percep- 
tible with  a constant  extent  of  movement. 

If  the  whole  body  is  moved,  without  jar  and  at  a uniform  rate, 
the  movement  passes  entirely  unnoticed.  If  the  movement  slows 
or  quickens,  however,  it  is  perceived  at  once.  The  perception 
may  be  due  to  the  inertia  of  the  body  : we  are  carried  forward  as 
the  movement  slows,  and  jerked  backward  as  it  quickens.  The 
suggestion  has  also  been  made  that  the  acceleration  of  movement 
sets  up  a wave  in  the  endolymph  of  the  internal  ear,  and  that  we 
consequently  owe  its  perception  to  the  static  sense  (§  20).  If 
this  is  correct,  the  static  sense  has  two  qualities,  giddiness  and  a 
peculiar  pressure,  and  the  latter  unites  with  the  sensations  pro- 
duced by  the  inertia  of  the  body  to  give  us  the  idea  of  increased 
or  decreased  rate  of  movement. 

III.  Qualitative  Ideas 

§ 49.  Clangs.  — A clang  is  an  assemblage  of  tones.  It 
is  the  conscious  process  which  corresponds  to  a compound 
air-wave,  as  the  tone  corresponds  to  a simple  wave-move- 
ment of  the  air  particles. 

When  we  hear  a chord  of  three  or  four  notes  struck 
upon  the  piano,  we  realise  that  it  is  a chord,  i.e.,  a percep- 
tion, and  not  a single  tone,  a sensation.  But  we  realise, 
also,  that  the  notes  of  the  chord  somehow  fit  together, 
belong  to  one  another,  form  a single  impression.  If  we 
sound  three  or  four  neighbouring  notes,  we  obtain  a very 
different  effect : the  complex  ‘ falls  to  pieces,’  the  notes 
seem  mutually  repellent.  As  compared  with  a single  note, 
the  chord  is  complex ; as  compared  with  a discord,  it  is  a 
single  impression. 


§ 49-  Clangs 


1 77 


But  not  even  the  note  is  a sensation,  an  unanalysable 
elementary  process  ; it  is  a chord,  composed  of  a number 
of  tones.  The  strongest  tone  gives  name  and  character  to 
the  note,  but  other,  weaker  tones  are  always  present  in  it. 
To  a trained  ear  there  is  as  much  difference  between  a 
note  and  a tone  as  to  the  untrained  ear  between  a note 
and  a chord  or  a chord  and  a discord. 

It  is  clear  from  these  instances  that  under  certain  cir- 
cumstances tone  qualities  can  mix  or  blend  together,  their 
mixture  giving  rise  to  a single  total  impression,  a single 
perception ; while  under  other  circumstances  they  remain 
separate,  and  are  distinctly  sensible  in  the  complex  impres- 
sion. In  the  note  we  have  the  highest  degree  of  tonal 
fusion,  as  it  is  called : one  of  the  constituent  tones  is  so 
strongly  predominant  as  to  give  its  own  quality  to  the 
whole  assemblage.  In  the  chord  we  have  a less  complete 
fusion.  It  is  true  that  each  of  the  component  notes  loses 
something  of  its  qualitative  distinctness,  and  that  the  chord 
is  a single  perception.  But  the  hearer  cannot  doubt,  as 
he  can  in  the  case  of  the  note,  that  the  perception  is  a 
complex  of  simple  processes  ; with  a little  trouble  he  can 
distinguish  these,  the  tones,  in  the  total  mass  of  sound. 
Lastly,  in  the  discord  we  have  the  lowest  degree  of  fusion, 
the  refusal  to  blend : the  component  notes  stand  out  side 
by  side. 

The  note  is  known  technically  as  the  simple  clang ; the 
chord  and  discord  as  compound  clangs. 


The  strongest  tone  in  the  note  is  termed  the  ‘fundamental.’ 
The  other,  weaker  tones  are  ‘ overtones.’  When  a violin  string  is 
plucked,  it  vibrates  not  only  as  a whole,  but  in  sections  as  well : 
half,  third,  quarter,  etc.  The  fundamental  is  the  tone  of  the  whole 

N - 


178 


Perception  and  Idea 


string ; the  overtones  are  the  tones  corresponding  to  the  vibrations 
of  the  half-string,  third-string,  quarter-string,  etc.1 

What  holds  of  the  violin  string  holds  of  any  vibrating  body : 
metal  rod,  mass  of  air,  etc.  We  always  have  a fundamental  tone 
and  a series  of  overtones.  As  a general  rule,  the  overtones  be- 
come weaker,  the  farther  they  are  removed  from  the  fundamental : 
the  vibration  of  the  quarter-string  gives  rise  to  a weaker  tone  than 
the  vibrations  of  the  half-string  and  third-string.  But  the  relative 
strength  of  the  overtones  is  different  in  the  case  of  different  vibrat- 
ing bodies.  Thus  the  air  masses  of  the  viola  and  clarionette  vibrate 
in  thirds,  fifths,  sevenths,  etc.,  more  strongly  than  in  halves,  quarters, 
sixths,  etc.  ; the  hammer  strikes  the  piano  string  in  such  a way  that 
the  sixth  overtone  does  not  sound  ; the  reed-pipes  of  an  organ  give 
a regular  series  of  overtones,  which  decrease  in  intensity,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  general  rule,  from  the  lowest  upwards.  The  note  of 
each  musical  instrument  thus  has  a peculiar  character  or  colouring ; 

1 As  the  overtones  correspond  to  the  vibrations  of  the  half,  third,  quarter,  etc., 
of  the  vibrating  body,  their  vibration  rates  will  be  twice,  three  times,  four  times, 
etc.,  that  of  the  fundamental.  If  we  represent  the  fundamental  vibration  rate  by 
I,  the  overtones  will  have  the  vibration  rates  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  etc.;  if  we  represent 
it  by  2,  the  overtones  will  form  the  series  4,  6,  8,  10,  12,  etc. 

The  relation  of  the  overtone  to  its  fundamental  must  not  be  confused  with 
the  relation  of  the  two  tones  composing  a musical  interval.  The  sixth  over- 
tone, e.g.,  does  not  make  with  its  fundamental  the  musical  interval  of  the  sixth. 
The  notes  of  the  musical  scale  are  named  a,  b,  c,  it,  e,  f,  g.  The  musical  inter- 
vals are  calculated  by  reference  to  these  names.  Thus  a-c,  b-d,  d-f  e-g,  f-a  are 
all  thirds : three  notes  are  involved  in  the  composition  of  each.  So  a-e , b-f 
c-g,  etc.,  are  all  fifths:  five  notes  are  involved  in  the  composition  of  each  one. 

The  vibration  rates  of  the  chief  musical  intervals  form  the  following  ratios: 
octave,  1 : 2;  fifth,  2:3;  fourth,  3:4;  major  sixth,  3:5;  minor  sixth,  5:8; 
major  third,  4:5;  minor  third,  5:6;  second,  8:9;  major  seventh,  8:15; 
minor  seventh,  5 : 9. 

We  can  now  state  the  relation  of  overtone  to  fundamental  in  terms  of  the 
musical  intervals.  The  series,  with  1 as  fundamental,  is : 

1:23456.... 

Fundamental  and  first  overtone  constitute  an  octave;  fundamental  and  second 
overtone,  an  octave  and  a fifth;  fundamental  and  third  overtone,  two  octaves; 
fundamental  and  fourth  overtone,  two  octaves  and  a major  third;  fundamental 
and  fifth  overtone,  two  octaves  and  a fifth,  etc. 


§ 49-  Clangs 


179 


or,  technically,  the  clangs  of  different  instruments  have  different 
clang-tints.  — It  is  a difference  of  clang-tint  which  differentiates 
the  vowel  sounds  of  the  human  voice.  The  larynx,  which  with  the 
resonance-cavity  of  the  mouth  constitutes  the  primitive  musical 
instrument,  is  thus  seen  to  be  in  reality  a number  of  instruments  : 
an  ^-instrument,  an  ^-instrument,  an  ^-instrument,  etc.  This  fact 
accounts,  in  part,  for  the  superiority  of  the  voice  over  any  string  or 
wind  instrument  in  the  matter  of  expression.  The  violin  approaches 
nearest  to  the  voice,  since  the  violinist  can  vary  the  overtones  of  his 
instrument,  within  wide  limits,  by  striking  the  strings  at  different 
points  ; and  can  thus  evoke  notes  or  chords  of  different  clang-tint. 

Method.  — The  analysis  of  a note  into  its  constituent  tones  is 
most  easily  performed  by  the  aid  of  a sonometer  and  a set  of  re- 
sonators, such  as  are  used  in  the  physical  laboratories.  The  sono- 
meter is  an  instrument  somewhat  resembling  a single-stringed  vio- 
lin ; and  the  resonators  are  bottles  of  glass  or  metal,  each  of  which 
contains  a mass  of  air  whose  vibration  corresponds  to  a particular 
tone.  The  sonometer  string  is  plucked,  and  its  vibrations  give 
rise  to  a clang.  The  resonators  are  applied  to  the  ear  in  quick 
succession,  during  the  sounding  of  the  clang.  All  those  whose 
peculiar  tone  is  among  the  overtones  of  the  clang  send  a loud 
sound  into  the  ear  : the  others  are  silent. 

If  you  have  not  these  instruments,  try  the  following  experiment 
with  a piano.  The  middle  c of  the  scale  contains  in  it  a number 
of  overtones,  the  loudest  of  which  are  the  c'  and  g'  of  the  next 
octave,  and  the  c",  g"  and  e"  of  the  octave  above  that.  Sound 
one  of  these  last  notes  softly  by  itself;  and  when  you  have  it  ‘in 
your  head,’  strike  the  key  of  the  middle  c.  You  will  be  able, 
with  a little  practice,  to  hear  the  overtone,  which  you  have  just 
listened  to  separately,  ring  out  from  the  body  of  the  clang. 

Experiments  upon  compound  clangs,  chords  and  discords,  are 
best  made  with  a set  of  tuning-forks.  Tuning-forks  give  pure 
tones  ; not  clangs.  If  they  are  not  available,  you  can  again  make 
use  of  a piano.  Let  an  assistant  strike  the  various  musical  ‘ inter- 
vals ’ within  the  middle  octave  of  the  scale,  in  haphazard  order. 
Record  your  judgment  of  the  composition  of  each  clang  sounded, 
your  judgment,  i.e.,  as  to  whether  it  contain  two  notes  or  only 


i8o 


Perception  and  Idea 


one  ; and  note  further  whether  you  decide  promptly  or  hesitat- 
ingly. If  you  feel  that  it  is  impossible  to  judge  impartially  when 
you  know  that  two  notes  will  be  given  in  each  experiment,  let  the 
assistant  intersperse  the  series  of  intervals  with  occasional  single 
notes.  In  this  way  you  will  avoid  the  expectation  error. 

You  will  find  that  the  interval  of  the  octave  ( c-c ')  is  most  often 
taken  to  be  a single  note  ; less  often  the  fifth  (c-g)  ; still  less 
often  the  fourth  ( c -f)  ; seldom  the  thirds  and  sixths  (c-e,  c-2e,  c-a, 
c-fca)  ; never  the  second  and  sevenths  (c-d,  c-b,  c-Vb~).  The 
octave  shows  the  highest  degree  of  fusion,  the  second  and 
sevenths  the  lowest. 

You  can  then  go  on  to  experiment  with  groups  of  three  and 
four  tuning-fork  tones  or  piano  notes,  arranging  these  more  com- 
plex clangs  in  the  order  of  fusion,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest 
degree.  Or  you  can  alter  the  intensity,  either  of  all  the  compo- 
nent tones  or  notes,  or  of  some  one  of  them  ; and  see  whether  the 
degree  of  fusion  is  changed  by  these  changes  of  intensity. 

A 

Clangs  are  typical  of  qualitative  ideas  in  general : of  the  ideas 
built  up  from  sensations  of  smell  and  taste,  of  the  qualitative  com- 
plexes of  pressure  and  temperature,  of  the  mixtures  of  pressure 
with  organic  sensations  (resistance,  impact,  etc.),  and  of  the  mixt- 
ures of  colour  and  brightness ; and  they  furnish  the  best  illustra- 
tion of  the  way  in  which  qualitative  ideas  are  formed.'^ For  (i)  we 
are  or  can  be  as  familiar  with  the  elementary  component  pro- 
cesses as  we  are  with  their  mixture  ; whereas  we  never  get  colour 
apart  from  brightness,  and  only  with  difficulty  get  strain,  articular 
pressure,  etc.,  separate  in  experience;  (2)  the  universal  distribu- 
tion of  musical  instruments  makes  it  possible  for  any  one  to 
examine  them;  and  (3)  they  show  all  degrees  of  blending,  from 
an  almost  unanalysable  singleness  of  impression  (the  tuning-fork 
octave)  to  an  unmistakable  complexity  (second  or  seventh). 

§ 50.  Melody.  — As  movement  is  both  temporal  and 
spatial,  so  melody  is  both  temporal  and  qualitative.  It 
presupposes  both  clang  and  rhythm. 


§ 5°-  Melody 


1 8 1 


A melody  is,  in  the  first  place,  a succession  of  single 
clangs.  These  clangs  cannot  be  chosen  at  random ; we 
know  that  a mere  sounding  of  clangs,  one  after  the  other, 
does  not  give  rise  to  what  we  call  a tune.  The  composer 
has  always  to  select  from  a definite  series  of  clangs.  Or, 
in  other  words,  every  melody,  however  primitive  it  may 
be,  is  composed  in  a certain  scale,  however  rudimentary. 
Its  clangs,  i.e.,  are  chosen  from  a restricted  number, 
arranged  at  approximately  fixed  intervals. 

It  is  probable  that  all  scales  begin  with  the  interval  of 
the  descending  fourth.  A c being  given,  the  first  note  to 
be  fixed  is  the  G of  the  octave  below.  After  this  G — or 
possibly,  in  some  few  instances,  before  it,  as  the  first 
added  note  — comes  the  ascending  fifth,  the  g of  the 
octave  of  which  c is  the  lowest  note.  The  other  notes  of 
the  scale  are  gradually  established  between  these  limits, 
G-g,  as  the  musical  appreciation  of  mankind  develops. 

We  are  accustomed  to  think  of  a scale  as  beginning  in  the  bass 
and  continuing  upwards  towards  the  treble.  It  is  natural,  how- 
ever, that  the  primitive  scales  should  descend,  run  from  treble  to 
bass.  The  earliest  melody  must  have  been  very  like  our  recita- 
tive : and  the  voice  falls  or  drops  at  the  end  of  each  sentence. 

The  descending  scale  rests,  first  of  all,  upon  the  fourth  below 
its  starting-point,  because  this  interval  is  the  ordinary  drop  of  the 
voice  in  speaking.  It  rises,  first  of  all,  to  the  fifth  above  its  start- 
ing-point, because  this  is  the  ordinary  rise  of  the  voice  in  ques- 
tioning. 

The  scale  which  has  been  universally  adopted  in  Western  music 
is  an  ascending  scale  of  twelve  notes  (semitones)  to  the  octave. 
These  notes  are  c,  S c,  d,  %d,  e,  /,  $/,  g,  %g,  a,  %a,  b.  Traces 
of  other  scales  are  occasionally  found  : e.g.,  in  Scotch  bagpipe 
music. 

As  the  scale  becomes  complex,  the  rules  of  melody  necessarily 


182 


Perception  and  Idea 


become  precise.  Hence  vve  have  such  canons  as  that  the  melody 
must  begin  and  end  with  the  same  note,  the  ‘ tonic  ’ clang.  We 
pass  from  first  to  last  note,  from  tonic  to  tonic  clang,  through 
clangs  whose  overtones  are  partially  identical ; so  that  a conti- 
nuity of  movement  is  secured,  similar  to  that  which  we  have 
explained  by  the  persistence  of  sensation,  as  after-image  or 
memory,  in  tactual  and  visual  movement  (§  46). 

The  semitone  is  not  by  any  means  the  least  difference  of  pitch 
that  the  ear  can  discriminate  (§  13).  But  it  is  the  least  difference 
which  the  voice  can  sing  with  any  accuracy ; and  we  have  seen 
that  the  larynx  is  the  earliest  musical  instrument.  The  singing  of 
two  successive  semitones,  then,  means  a just  noticeable  adjustment 
of  the  laryngeal  muscles,  a just  noticeable  difference  of  two  com- 
plexes of  strain  sensations.  The  musical  scale  was  formed  not  by 
ear,  but  by  voice ; and  this  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  music  uses 
so  few  of  the  tones. 

Weber’s  law  tells  us  that  equal  differences  of  sensation  cor- 
respond to  relatively  equal  differences  of  stimulus.^Whether  the 
vocal  cords  are  slack  or  tense,  therefore,  their  tension  must  be  in- 
creased in  the  same  proportion,  if  we  are  to  get  a just  noticeable 
difference  of  strain  sensation,  i.e.,  the  difference  of  a semitone  in 
the  vibration  rates  of  the  cords.  Hence  we  should  expect  to  find 
what  is  actually  the  case  : that  as  the  Sc  has  36  vibrations  in  the 
second  when  the  c has  32,  it  has  72  when  the  c has  64,  144  when 
the  c has  128,  and  so  on. 

A melody  is,  in  the  second  place,  a succession  of 
rhythms.  It  consists  of  a number  of  measures,  rounded 
to  phrases  and  periods.  The  rhythm  helps  to  hold  the 
changing  clangs  together,  as  the  melody  proceeds ; and 
the  return  of  melody  to  its  tonic  clang  helps  to  hold 
together  the  series  of  rhythms. 

We  have  in  a given  melody,  then,  a qualitative  whole  in  a 
temporal  setting.  The  melodic  idea  is  more  complex  than  those 
which  we  have  discussed  hitherto.  It  lies  on  the  border-line 
between  an  idea  and  a successive  association  of  ideas. 


§ 51-  The  Function  of  the  Idea  183 

§ 51.  The  Function  of  the  Idea.  — Two  of  the  questions 
of  § 43  have  now  been  answered : we  have  seen  how  ideas 
are  formed,  and  which  of  the  four  attributes  of  sensation 
are  of  the  greatest  importance  for  their  production.  We 
have  not  yet  answered  the  third  question,  — under  what 
circumstances  the  idea  acquires  its  unity  or  singleness  for 
mental  experience. 

Not  every  sensation  complex  has  this  unity  or  single- 
ness ; so  that  not  every  sensation  complex  can  be  termed 
a perception  or  idea.  The  visual  quality  of  yellow  and 
the  tonal  quality  of  the  middle  c may  be  together  in  con- 
sciousness. Yet  there  is  no  yellow-*:  or  c-yellow  idea. 
On  the  other  hand,  not  every  complex  of  sensations 
which  can  be  called  unitary  or  single  can  also  be  called 
a perception  or  idea.  The  experiences  of  drowsiness, 
fatigue,  health,  etc.  (§21)  are  complexes  of  sensations 
and  affection  closely  connected ; yet  we  should  hardly 
speak  of  them  as  perceptions  or  ideas.  Despite  their 
singleness  in  experience,  we  term  them  groups  of  or- 
ganic sensations,  or,  less  accurately,  organic  sensations. 
The  unity  or  singleness  of  the  idea  must,  therefore,  be 
of  a special  kind  and  result  from  special  conditions. 

The  idea  is  unitary  because  it  is  the  conscious  repre- 
sentative of  a single  object  or  process  in  the  outside  world. 
It  is  a complex  of  elementary  mental  processes  which,  in 
its  entirety,  corresponds  to  the  various  aspects  or  phases 
of  a physical  object  or  proces^^The  object  or  process 
appeals  to  us  in  different  ways,  by  different  sense  chan- 
nels; and  each  kind  of  appeal  is  represented  in  the 
idea.  The  reason  for  its  singleness,  its  self-consistency, 
is,  therefore,  a biological  reason  : what  the  organism  finds 
together  in  the  world  in  which  it  lives,  remains  together 


184  Perceptio7i  and  Idea 

in  perception  or  idea.  The  physical  processes  underlying 
the  visual  quality  yellow  and  the  auditory  quality  c are  not 
connected  together,  and  consequently  the  qualities  them- 
selves cannot  join  to  form  an  idea.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  qualities  corresponding  to  the  organic,  bodily  processes 
underlying  health,  etc.,  are  never  found  apart,  and  their 
analysis  is  very  difficult.  Hence  they  are  ordinarily  re- 
garded as  sensations.  When  analysed,  however,  the  com- 
plexes prove  to  correspond  to  different  physical  processes 
at  different  parts  of  the  body.  Hence  to  the  psychologist 
they  form  a group  of  sensations,  not  an  idea.  Different 
from  both  the  yellow-c  complex  and  these  complexes  of 
organic  sensations  is  the  simple  clang,  or  note.  Here  the 
qualities  are  so  closely  blended  that  the  whole  is  popularly 
regarded  as  a sensation.  When  analysed,  it  falls  into  a 
number  of  constituents ; but  these  all  correspond  to  the 
various  phases  of  one  physical  movement-process,  — and 
the  clang  is  accordingly  a true  perception  or  idea. 

We  are  now  in  a position  to  understand  why  there  should  be 
those  conflicts,  between  ideas  derived  from  different  senses,  of 
which  we  have  more  than  once  spoken  (§§  44  ff.).  Although 
all  the  sense-organs  are  in  the  service  of  the  same  organism,  each 
of  them  mirrors  or  reflects  the  objects  and  processes  of  the  physi- 
cal world  in  its  own  special  way.  As  the  senses  stand  upon  dif- 
ferent levels,  some  being  more  and  some  less  highly  developed, 
discrepancies  must  necessarily  arise  when  two  of  them  furnish  the 
same  kind  of  idea.  The  appeal  is  always  to  vision,  — to  the  most 
highly  developed  class  of  four-attribute  sensations.  “ Seeing  is 
believing.” 

The  ideas  which  conflict  with  visual  ideas,  and  which  for  that 
reason  we  refuse  to  accept,  are  termed  illusory  ideas.  They  are 
deceptive  ideas,  ideas  which  ‘ play  with  ’ us.  If  two  blunt  points 
are  set  down  upon  the  skin  of  the  back  at  a distance  of  60  mm. 


§51-  Tlie  Function  of  the  Idea 


185 


apart,  they  are  taken  to  be  but  one  impression,  i.e.,  tactually 
localised  at  the  same  place.  This  tactual  idea  of  locality  is 
illusory ; we  have  only  to  see  the  stimuli  to  believe  that  they  are 
two.  — Draw  a pair  of  compasses,  whose  points  are  2 cm.  apart, 
across  the  face  from  ear  to  ear,  so  that  one  point  travels  over  the 
upper  lip,  and  the  other  between  lower  lip  and  chin.  Your  tact- 
ual idea  of  the  figure  described  will  be  that  of  an  oval.  The 
points  seem  to  come  together  at  the  ears,  where  you  cannot 
localise  impressions  accurately,  and  to  separate  at  the  lips,  where 
your  power  of  localisation  is  greater.  This  idea  of  an  oval  is 
illusory : sight  would  tell  you  that  the  compass  points  are  describ- 
ing two  parallel  lines.  — The  size  of  the  cavity  of  a hollow  tooth, 
as  perceived  by  the  tip  of  the  tongue,  is  illusory,  as  are  also  the 
differences  which  the  skin  perceives  in  the  rate  of  a movement 
known  by  the  eye  to  be  uniform.  — If  as  we  lie  upon  the  tilt- 
board  the  strains  and  pressures  in  head  and  neck  and  back  tell  us 
that  we  are  standing  upon  our  head,  and  we  then  open  the  eyes 
and  ‘see’  that  we  are  only  6o°  from  the  horizontal,  we  reject  the 
tactual  idea  and  accept  the  visual.  The  former  is  illusory. 

Yet  we  are  often  deceived  by  the  eye  itself,  and  know  that  we 
are  deceived.  In  such  cases  we  speak,  not  of  a visual  perception 
or  idea,  but  of  an  optical  illusion.  Thus  the  eye  declares  that  the 
railway  lines  along  which  we  are 
looking  meet  at  the  horizon, 
and  that  a square  figure  is 
higher  than  it  is  broad.  The 
eye,  that  is  to  say,  is,  no  more 
than  the  skin,  an  absolutely 
reliable  mirror  of  external  ob- 
jects and  processes:  if  we  did 
not  know  that  the  lines  are 
parallel  and  that  the  square  is 
equilateral,  the  eye  would  de- 
ceive us. 

Figure  8 gives  instances  of 
optical  illusions  in  the  sphere  of  extensive  ideas.  The  two  cross- 
lines  in  a seem  to  be  parts  of  one  and  the  same  line.  This  is  not 


Perception  and  Idea 


1 86 

the  case  ; so  that  we  have  in  the  figure  an  illusion  of  position. 
In  b a square  is  inscribed  in  a circle.  But  the  four  arcs  appear  to 
belong  to  smaller  circles,  and  the  sides  of  the  square  to  bend 
inwards ; so  that  the  figure  seems  to  be  of  the  same  type  as  c. 
We  have  in  it  an  illusion  of  form.  The  open  semicircle  in  d looks 
larger  than  the  closed.  Both  are  of  the  same  size  : the  figure 
gives  us  an  illusion  of  magnitude. 

The  first  of  these  illusions  is  the  result  of  two  factors.  We 
always  overestimate  vertical  distances,  because  it  requires  more 
effort  — the  strain  sensations  must  be  stronger  — to  move  the  eye 
up  than  to  move  it  out  or  in.  Hence  the  left-hand  cross-line  is 
put  too  high  in  our  idea,  and  its  continuation  accordingly  looked 
for  at  too  high  a point  on  the  right  of  the  rectangle.  We  also 
overestimate  the  size  of  small  angles.  Since  the  acute  angle  made 
with  the  rectangle  by  the  left-hand  cross-line  is  overestimated,  the 
continuation  of  the  line  on  the  right  will  again  be  looked  for  too 
high  up.  — The  second  illusion  also  depends  on  the  fact  of  the 
overestimation  of  small  angles.  The  angles  made  by  the  sides  of 
the  square  with  the  four  arcs  are  regarded  as  larger  than  they 
really  are.  The  illusion  necessarily  follows.  The  overestimation 
itself  is  probably  due  to  the  passing  of  the  eye  along  the  lines 
forming  the  angle,  and  the  consequent  forcing-apart  of  those  lines 
in  perception.  — The  third  illusion  is  accounted  for  by  the  fact 
that  the  open  semicircle  offers  no  impediment  to  eye  movement, 
while  the  closed  figure  seems  to  check  it  above  and  below. 

We  have  a visual  illusion  of  movement  from  what  is  called  the 
stroboscope.  A series  of  instantaneous  photographs  of  some 
moving  object,  e.g.,  a flying  bird,  are  taken  in  rapid  succession. 
These  are  pasted  at  regular  intervals  on  the  inside  of  a cardboard 
cylinder.  In  the  wall  of  the  cylinder,  above  the  photographs,  are 
cut  a number  of  narrow  vertical  slits,  each  one  directly  opposite 
to  one  of  the  pictures.  Twirl  the  cylinder  round,  while  you  look 
down  through  the  slits  at  the  photographs.  You  will  see,  not  the 
separate  phases  of  the  flying  movement,  but  a continuous  flight. 
The  reason  is,  that  each  impression  persists  for  a little  time  after 
the  stimulus  has  passed  by. 

The  phenomena  of  contrast  furnish  instances  of  illusions  of 


§ 5i.  The  Function  of  the  Idea 


1 37 


visual  quality.  If  a light  grey  square  is  laid  upon  a background 
of  deep  red,  it  appears  not  grey  but  greenish,  etc.  The  colours 
and  brightnesses  must  not  be  too  intense,  or  they  are  too  much 
themselves  to  be  affected  by  neighbouring  colours  and  bright- 
nesses ; and  they  must  not  be  too  weak,  or  there  is  not  enough 
quality  in  them,  so  to  speak,  for  contrast  effects  to  arise.  No 
satisfactory  explanation  of  contrast  has  yet  been  given. 

In  all  these  cases,  vision  is  the  test  of  vision ; we  know  from 
the  eye  that  the  eye  has  deceived  us.  We  soon  learn  by  experi- 
ence that  the  appearance  of  objects  in  the  field  of  vision  alters  as 
the  position  of  the  eyes  alters ; the  table  that  looks  square  from 
one  point  of  view  seems  to  be  a trapezoid  from  another.  Hence 
it  becomes  necessary,  for  practical  purposes,  to  construct  an  ideal 
or  standard  eye,  and  to  accept  its  verdict  in  all  cases  where  the 
real  eyes  leave  us  in  doubt,  or  where  two  actual  visual  perceptions 
contradict  each  other.  The  ideal  or  standard  eye  is  the  measur- 
ing or  mathematical  eye  ; the  eye  that  perceives  distances  and 
sizes  and  forms  in  terms  of  yards  or  metres,  and  directions  in 
terms  of  angular  distance  from  some  fixed  point  or  line.  The 
measuring  eye  abstracts  from  all  the  varying  conditions  under 
which  an  object  is  seen,  and  perceives  it  always  under  standard 
conditions.  Where  we  stand  the  railway  lines  are  4 ft.  8^  in. 
apart ; if  we  walk  to  the  point  where  the  horizon  lay,  they  are 
there  too  4 ft.  81-  in.  apart : therefore  they  do  not  meet  at  the 
horizon,  as  the  eye  which  sees  the  whole  extent  at  once  would 
have  us  believe  they  do.  The  square  looks  higher  than  it  is 
broad ; but  the  height  is  1 cm.  and  the  breadth  1 cm. : there- 
fore the  figure  is  equilateral. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


The  Association  of  Ideas 

§ 52.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Association.  — Our  dis- 
cussion of  the  perception  or  idea  has  brought  us  face  to 
face  with  concrete  facts,  with  actual  items  of  mental 
experience. 

But  although  the  idea  is  an  item  of  experience,  and  may 
thus  be  regarded  as  complete  in  itself,  it  is  not  a ‘thing,’ 
definite  in  outline  and  impermeable  to  outside  influences. 
Looked  at  from  within,  it  is  a complex  of  fluid  processes. 
Even  the  most  clear-cut  idea,  the  idea  of  a ‘thing,’  gives 
evidence  in  support  of  this  statement : its  centre  of  in- 
terest, the  part-process  in  it  which  holds  the  attention,  is 
constantly  changing  (§  2).  Looked  at  from  without,  it  is 
itself  a fluid  process ; a process  of  varying  extent  and 
varying  form,  set  in  the  midst  of  a tangle  of  similar  pro- 
cesses, i.e.,  of  a consciousness. 

In  § 9 we  compared  consciousness  to  a fresco ; it  is  a whole  in 
which  there  are  no  breaks,  but  a smooth  connection  of  part  with 
part.  The  comparison  will  be  useful  to  us  now,  as  an  aid  to  our 
understanding  of  the  nature  of  the  idea.  The  idea  is,  in  one 
sense,  something  by  itself,  complete  in  itself;  just  as  the  figures 
in  the  fresco  are,  as  human  figures,  complete  in  themselves  and 
separable  from  the  rest  of  the  painting.  But  the  idea  is,  in 
another  sense,  incomplete ; it  is  never  found  alone,  out  of  its 
mental  setting ; it  runs  over  into  other  ideas.  And  the  figures  in 
the  fresco  are  also  incomplete,  gaining  their  full  significance  only 

188 


§ 52.  Nature  and  Forms  of  Association  189 

as  parts  of  the  painter’s  total  conception,  while  their  outlines  are 
not  sharp  and  rigid,  but  merge  in  their  background  at  the  same 
time  that  they  stand  out  upon  it.  The  figures  imply  the  whole 
fresco  : the  ideas  imply  the  whole  of  consciousness. 

It  is  natural,  then,  that  the  connection  of  elementary- 
processes  should  not  stop  short  at  the  idea.^/Just  as  the 
sensations  which  are  set  up  at  the  same  time  by  the  exci- 
tation of  different  bodily  organs,  or  of  different  parts  of 
the  same  organ,  unite  to  form  an  idea  or  perception,  so  do 
the  sensations  which  have  'entered  into  different  ideas  or 
perceptions  unite  to  form  still  more  complex  processes, 
still  larger  sections  of  mental  experience.  And  just  as  we 
passed  from  the  consideration  of  sensation  to  that  of  per- 
ception or  idea,  so  we  must  now  pass  from  this  to  the  con- 
sideration of  what  is  called  the  ‘association  of  ideas.’  > 

Suppose  that  I am  sitting  in  my  study,  'and  find  my 
train  of  thought  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  perception  of 
a loud  rumbling  noise.  The  perception  may  be  the  whole 
of  the  experience  : I may  feel  a momentary  impatience  at 
the  interruption,  and  then  return  at  once  to  my  work. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  perception  may  call  up  in  my 
mind  the  vague  picture  of  some  heavy  vehicle  on  the 
street  below  my  window ; and  if,  earlier  in  the  day,  I have 
seen  a traction  engine  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood, 
this  visual  picture  may  be  made  definite,  and  further  con- 
nected with  the  verbal  idea  ‘traction  engine.’  There  is  no 
appreciable  lapse  of  time  between  the  original  sound  per- 
ception and  the  appearance  of  these  other  ideas  : the  noise 
is  no  sooner  heard  than  picture  and  word  are  together 
with  it  in  consciousness.  In  such  cases  we  speak  of  a 
simultaneous  association. 

This,  again,  may  be  the  whole  of  the  experience : with 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


190 

the  completion  of  the  simultaneous  association  I may- 
return  to  my  work.  But  the  interruption  may  go  still 
farther.  The  idea  of  the  traction  engine  may  arouse  in 
my  mind  the  picture  of  an  accident  that  I witnessed  some 
years  ago,  — the  quick  turn  of  a similar  engine  round  a 
sharp  corner,  the  sideward  spring  of  a horse,  startled  by 
sight  and  sound,  and  the  overthrow  of  the  carriage.  This 
in  turn  may  give  place  to  the  picture  of  the  man  who 
jostled  me  as  the  crowd  ran  towards  the  scene  of  the  mis- 
hap. And  so  the  process  is  continued.  ‘ He  was  curi- 
ously like  Jones:  I have  not  seen  Jones  since  I was  at 
school : the  first  time  I saw  him  there  he  was  eating  sand- 
wiches on  the  library  table : I always  said  that  there  wag 
no  use  in  letting  those  books  stay  in  cloth  bindings:  that 
reminds  me,  — I had  better  get  my  magazine  sets  bound 
before  they  cost  too  much  : all  the  same,  I don’t  like  td 
spare  those  articles  of  Brown’s;  I shall  want  them  for— ■ 
ah ! all  this  waste  of  time  over  that  absurd  traction 
engine  ! ’ Every  one  will  be  able  to  parallel  this  series  oi 
ideas  from  his  own  experience.  It  is  an  illustration  of  thn 
second  form  of  the  association  of  ideas,  successive  associa- 
tion. 

The  phrase,  ‘ association  of  ideas,’  is  doubly  misleading.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  not  ideas  which  ‘ associate,’  but  the  elementary  pro- 
cesses of  which  ideas  are  composed.  And  secondly,  the  connec- 
tion is  not  well  described  by  the  term  ; association,’  which  implies 
a mere  juxtaposition  of  things  which  remain,  after  they  have  been 
placed  together,  precisely  what  they  were  before. 

The  expression  has  come  down  to  us  from  a psychology  which 
did  regard  ideas  and  their  connection  in  the  way  indicated  : which 
took  the  idea  of  a pen  or  an  inkstand  to  be  something  just  as 
stable  and  clearly  outlined  as  the  pen  or  the  inkstand  itself,  and 
looked  upon  the  ‘ association  ’ of  the  two  ideas  as  a mechanical 


§53-  Simultaneous  Association 


191 

attachment  of  one  bit  of  mind,  one  independent  experience,  to 
another.  Although  this  theory  is  not  held  to-day,  the  phrase  has 
gained  such  wide  acceptance  that  it  can  hardly  be  banished  from 
our  psychological  vocabulary. 

§ 53.  Simultaneous  Association.  — Our  first  aim  must  be 
to  get  a clear  understanding  of  the  difference  between  the 
idea,  or  perception,  and  the  simultaneous  association  of 
ideas.  We  shall  do  this  most  easily  if  we  notice,  first  of 
all,  the  points  in  which  the  two  processes  are  alike,  and 
only  after  these  are  defined  proceed  to  define  that  in  which 
they  differ. 

(1)  <^s  regards  the  elementary  processes  contained  in 
them,  no  hard  and  fast  line  of  distinction  can  be  drawn 
between  the  perception  or  idea  and  the  simultaneous  asso- 
ciation of  ideas.  Both  prove,  when  analysed,  to  be  com- 
plexes of  sensations.  /"From  this  point  of  view  the  idea  of 
an  arm-chair  (§  43),  which  contains  both  visual  and  tactual 
elements,  might  just  as  well  be  described  as  a simultaneous 
association  of  those  elements  ; and  the  association  of  vis- 
ual picture  and  word  in  the  instance  of  the  traction  engine, 
given  in  the  preceding  Section,  might  just  as  well  be  called 
a complete  or  perfect  idea  of  the  traction  engine.  If  the 
two  processes  differ  at  all  in  composition,  the  difference  is 
that  the  idea  is  simpler,  contains  fewer  elementary  pro- 
cesses, than  the  simultaneous  association  of  ideas.  But 
this  rule  has  so  many  exceptions  that  we  cannot  safely 
follow  it  in  distinguishing  them. 

(2)  Nor  do  the  idea  and  the  simultaneous  association  of 
ideas  differ  as  regards  the  way  in  which  their  component 
processes  are  connected,  grouped  together  in  consciousness. 
The  elements  of  taste,  smell,  touch  and  sight  which  are 
contained  in  the  idea  of  lemonade  are  ‘ associated  ’ in  that 


192 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


idea,  the  elements  of  pressure  and  vision,  or  of  pressure 
and  audition  (verbal  local  sign),  which  are  contained  in  the 
tactual  idea  of  locality,  are  ‘ associated  ’ in  that  idea,  — just 
as,  again,  the  visual  picture  and  word  are  associated  in  our 
instance  of  simultaneous  association.  If  the  two  processes 
differ  at  all  in  the  connection  of  their  elements,  the  differ- 
ence is  that  the  elements  in  the  idea  are  more  closely  and 
invariably  associated  than  the  elements  of  the  simultaneous 
association.  But  this  rule,  again,  has  many  exceptions. 
The  elements  of  touch  and  vision  in  the  idea  of  an  arm- 
chair are  not  more  closely  connected  with  each  other  than 
with  the  verbal  idea  ‘arm-chair.’  Yet  touch  and  vision 
together  give  us  an  idea ; the  same  elements  plus  the 
verbal  idea,  a simultaneous  association  of  ideas. 

(3)  The  difference  between  the  two  processes,  then, 
lies  neither  in  the  part-processes  which  they  contain,  nor 
in  the  manner  in  which  these  components  are  grouped 
together.  It  must  be  sought  elsewhere.  Put  briefly,  it  is 
this : that  the  elementary  processes  in  the  idea  are  pro- 
cesses which  have  never  before  been  in  connection  with 
others,  whereas  the  elementary  processes  in  the  simultane- 
ous association  of  ideas  have  already  played  a part  in 
some  idea.  The  idea  is  the  concrete  mental  process 
which  stands  nearest  to  bare  sensation  : it  is  in  the  idea 
that  the  organism  makes  its  first  conscious  adjustment  to 
the  natural  world.  The  difference  between  the  sensation 
which  has  not,  and  the  sensation  which  has,  taken  part  in 
this  conscious  adjustment  is  not  a difference  of  quality  or 
intensity,  extent  or  duration.  It  is  only  that  the  one  is 
raw  material ; the  other  the  same  material  after  it  has  been 
turned  to  account  by  the  organism  for  some  practical 
purpose.  The  one  means  nothing:  it  does  not  acquire  a 


§ 53-  Simultaneous  Association  193 

meaning  until  it  has  entered  into  an  idea ; for  it  is  not  the 
bare  sensation,  but  the  idea,  which  corresponds  to  an 
object  or  process  in  the  physical  world,  and  signifies 
this  object  or  process  to  the  organism.  The  other  is 
significant : it  brings  a meaning  with  it,  because  it  has,  at 
some  time  or  other,  formed  part  of  an  idea  or  perception, 
i.e.,  of  the  conscious  representative  of  a physical  object 
or  physical  process.  The  sensation  which  has  been  associ- 
ated in  the  past,  is  ready  to  fall  anew  into  associative  con- 
nections; the  sensation  which  has  never  been  associated, 
has  to  find  its  place,  so  to  speak,  in  the  course  of  experi- 
ence. Or  again : the  sensation  which  enters  into  an  idea 
is  the  sensation  which  we  obtain  by  scientific  analysis,  the 
independent  simple  process  of  Chapter  II ; the  sensation 
which  enters  into  a simultaneous  association  of  ideas  is 
the  sensation  as  we  get  it  approximately  in  laboratory 
experience  (§  17;  cf.  § 74),  a process  which  has  a habit, 
a liability  to  connect  with  other  sensations  in  the  future, 
as  it  has  connected  before. 

Two  forms  of  simultaneous  association  are  of  especial 
interest.  As  they  are  at  the  same  time  typical  of  simul- 
taneous association  in  general,  we  may  confine  our  discus- 
sion of  the  process  to  them. 

(1)  When  once  an  idea  has  taken  shape,  — whether  it 
be  the  idea  of  locality  or  of  rhythm,  of  form  or  of  melody, 
— it  is  henceforth  at  the  disposal  of  consciousness  as  a 
whole,  as  a total  process.  There  is  no  need  of  its  con- 
scious re-formation.  However  slowly  we  may  have  learned 
the  fact  that  objects  lie  in  space  at  a distance  from  us,  and 
however  many  mistakes  we  made  before  the  idea  of  dis- 
tance was  fully  formed,  we  now  have  it  as  part  of  our 
mental  furniture,  ready  for  use  upon  all  occasions.  And 


194 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


the  same  is  true  of  all  the  kinds  of  idea  discussed  in  the 
foregoing  chapter. 

It  will  often  happen,  then,  that  when  an  impression,  a 
complex  of  stimuli,  is  presented  to  the  organism,  the 
appearance  of  the  corresponding  idea  in  consciousness 
arouses  some  one  or  other  of  these  available  ideas,  which 
joins  with  the  given  idea  and  supplements  it.  The  per- 
ception or  idea,  itself  significant  of  some  external  object 
or  process,  is  thus  set  in  its  proper  place  in  our  conscious 
plan  or  map  of  the  physical  world ; it  is  arranged  among 
our  existing  stock  of  perceptions  or  ideas,  and  brought 
into  connection  with  t-hem.  In  such  cases  we  speak  of 
the  associative  supplementing  of  an  idea.  Associative  sup- 
plementing is  the  first  sub-form  of  simultaneous  association. 

Let  us  take,  by  way  of  illustration,  our  idea  of  the  distance  of 
an  object  from  our  own  body.  This  idea  was  originally  formed 
from  sensation  processes,  whether  sensations  of  strain  from  the 
muscles  of  the  eyeball,  or  retinal  sensations,  or  both  together 
(§44).  As  bare  sensations,  these  processes  were  meaningless; 
they  acquired  significance  only  when  combined  in  the  idea. 

But  when  we  are  judging  distance,  in  adult  life,  we  are  not  con- 
cerned to  notice  the  formative  sensations  of  the  original  distance 
idea.  An  object  is  before  us,  and  our  perception  of  it  as  an  object 
is  at  once  associatively  supplemented  by  the  idea  of  its  distance. 
Thus  (1)  if  the  object  is  small,  we  regard  it  (other  things  equal) 
as  remote  : the  smaller  a thing  looks,  the  farther  off  must  it  be. 
The  idea  of  size  is  here  associatively  supplemented  by  that  of  dis- 
tance. (2)  If  the  distribution  of  lights  and  shades  upon  the 
surface  of  the  object  is  of  a certain  kind,  its  perception  is  supple- 
mented, in  just  the  same  way,  by  an  idea  of  distance.  A theatre 
stage  may  be  made  to  appear  much  deeper  than  it  really  is,  if  the 
lights  and  shades  are  skilfully  distributed  upon  back-scene  and 
side-pieces.  (3)  If  the  object  is  indistinct,  its  outlines  blurred, 
the  idea  of  remoteness  comes  up  at  once  to  supplement  it.  The 


§ 53-  Simultaneous  Association 


195 


less  clear  a thing  is,  the  farther  off  is  it,  other  things  equal.  (4) 
If  there  are  a large  number  of  objects  intervening  between  our- 
selves and  the  object  at  which  we  are  looking,  the  idea  of  re- 
moteness is  again  associated  to  it.  (5)  And  if,  as  we  pass  rapidly 
through  a landscape,  e.g.,  as  we  sit  in  a railway  carriage,  an  object 
flashes  quickly  by  us,  we  know  at  once  that  it  is  near ; if  it  glides 
by  slowly,  we  know  that  it  is  distant.  The  perception  is  associ- 
atively  supplemented,  so  that  it  makes  way  for  a simultaneous 
association  of  ideas. 

So  close  is  the  connection  in  these  cases  between  the  given  idea 
and  the  idea  which  supplements  it,  that  we  are  apt  to  lose  sight 
of  the  way  in  which  this  supplementary  idea  was  originally  formed, 
and  to  look  upon  it  as  the  direct  consequence  of  the  other. 
Really,  of  course,  the  supplementary  idea  must  have  previously 
taken  shape,  — or  it  could  not  now  be  associated  to  the  given  idea. 
We  could  not  say  : “ See  how  clearly  the  trees  stand  out  upon 
that  hill ! It  can’t  be  more  than  two  or  three  miles  off”  unless  we 
had  the  idea  of  distance  at  our  disposal,  before  we  noticed  the 
clearness  of  the  impressions.  Clearness  of  outline  is  one  of  the 
original  factors  in  the  idea  of  form  (§  45);  it  is  not  a factor  in 
the  idea  of  distance.  The  exclamation  involves  an  association  of 
two  ideas,  of  form  and  of  distance. 

There  is  no  department  of  perception  which  does  not  furnish 
instances  of  associative  supplementing.  We  perceive  at  once  that 
a drawing  in  perspective  is  intended  to  represent  an  arrangement 
of  objects  in  tridimensional  space.  We  accept  the  rough  brush- 
marks  of  a theatrical  background  as  an  adequate  representation  of 
a landscape.  — How  little  we  actually  hear  of  what  is  said  to  us  is 
shown  by  the  difficulty  which  we  find  in  understanding  a conversa- 
tion in  a foreign  language,  with  which  we  are  familiar  only  in  its 
written  form.  We  must  wait  till  we  are  able  to  supplement  the 
sounds  heard,  to  supply  by  association  the  slurred  and  abbreviated 
syllables  which  the  ear  does  not  ‘catch.’ — When  we  are  ‘feeling’ 
our  way  across  a room  in  the  dark,  and  come  into  contact  with  a 
hard  object,  we  say  at  once  : “That  is  the  table  ! ” The  tactual 
perception,  incomplete  as  it  is,  calls  up  a visual  idea  and  its  ver- 
bal expression. — The  scent  of  sandalwood  is  supplemented  by  the 


196 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


visual  idea  of  a glove  box  or  stamp  case  of  sandalwood  inlaid  with 
ivory  ; the  smell  of  roasting  meat  by  the  visual  picture  of  the  ‘ laid  ’ 
dinner  table  ; and  so  on. 

Method.  — One  of  the  commonest  instances  of  associative  sup- 
plementing is  the  right  reading  of  words  wrongly  spelled.  Even  a 
practised  proof-reader  may  overlook  mistakes  in  very  familiar 
words  (§  42).  On  the  other  hand,  the  misprints  in  a book  which 
is  written  in  a language  not  so  familiar  to  us  as  our  own  attract  our 
attention  at  once.  We  read  English  by  general  impression,  sup- 
plementing what  we  see  as  we  glance  quickly  over  the  printed 
words ; we  read  German  or  French  more  accurately,  because 
more  slowly  and  toilsomely. 

These  facts  suggest  a method  by  which  the  conditions  and  attri- 
butes of  associative  supplementing  may  be  investigated.  Let  an 
assistant  prepare  a number  of  cards,  upon  each  of  which  is  written 
a one-syllable  word,  more  or  less  misspelled.  For  stage,  e.g.,  he 
might  take  the  following  : siage,  siaye,  seaye,  seaue,  etc.  Series  of, 
say,  ten  cards  are  formed.  The  larger  part  of  these  have  mis- 
spelled words:  siage  (stage),  work  (work),  qtace  (place),  etc. 
To  avoid  the  expectation  error,  however,  one  or  two  rightly 
spelled  words  must  be  included  in  each  series.  You  are  shown 
the  ten  cards,  one  at  a time,  for  .2  to  .5  sec.,  and  required  to  read 
what  is  written  on  them. 

To  get  at  the  conditions  of  the  association  in  these  cases,  you 
must  subject  your  results  to  a careful  analysis  : noting  whether  the 
familiarity  of  the  word  has  anything  to  do  with  its  supplementing, 
whether  its  form  is  of  importance,  whether  first  or  last  letters, 
vowels  or  consonants,  long  or  short  letters,  etc.,  are  most  easily 
supplied. 

The  attributes  — extent  and  intensity  — of  the  association  can 
be  determined  by  the  assistant,  if  enough  experiments  are  made. 
Thus,  by  varying  the  amount  of  the  misspelling,  as  in  the  instance 
of  stage  given  above,  he  can  discover  how  extensive  the  alteration 
of  the  word  may  be,  and  yet  be  overlooked  by  the  eye,  — how 
many  letters  may  be  wrong  while  the  word  is  still  read  aright  by 
association.  He  can  further  determine  the  intensity  of  the  supple- 
menting, either  by  questioning  you  closely  as  to  the  vividness  of 


§53-  Simultaneous  Association 


197 


the  letters  which  you  say  you  saw,  or  by  increasing  the  time  of 
exposure  till  you  are  just  able  to  read  the  misspelled  word  cor- 
rectly, that  is,  till  the  peripheral  impression  just  outweighs  the  cen- 
tral supplement.  The  latter  is  the  more  reliable  method.  The 
quality  of  the  associated  ideas  is  always  that  of  the  given  impres- 
sion : black  letters  on  a white  ground.  Their  duration  can  hardly 
be  made  out. 

Auditory  Localisation.  — Some  of  the  most  striking  instances 
of  associative  supplementing  are  afforded  by  the  localisation  of 
sounds.  Sensations  of  tone  and  noise  possess  no  spatial  attribute, 
and  our  auditory  perceptions  cannot  be  arranged  in  space,  as 
visual  and  tactual  perceptions  can.  When  we  localise  sounds,  we 
do  so  by  indirect  means,  by  the  help  of  secondary  criteria.  The 
auditory  perception  must  be  supplemented  by  other  ideas. 

Our  idea  of  the  direction  in  which  a sound  comes  to  us  is  based 
partly  upon  tactual  sensations,  proceeding  from  the  skin  and 
muscle  of  the  external  and  middle  ear,  and  partly  upon  the  dif- 
ferences in  the  intensity  of  the  sound,  as  it  is  heard  by  the  two 
ears.  A sound  which  comes  from  the  right  will  evidently  be 
louder  to  the  right  ear  than  to  the  left ; while  the  impact  of  air- 
waves upon  the  right  pinna  will  be  the  stronger,  and  the  adjust- 
ment of  the  right  tympanic  membrane  the  more  noticeable.  Our 
idea  of  the  distance  of  the  sound  is  an  idea  of  the  distance  of  the 
source  of  sound,  i.e.,  a visual  or  tactual  — not  auditory  — idea  of 
distance. 

Method.  — Seat  yourself  in  a chair,  and  let  an  assistant  chalk 
upon  the  floor  a circle  of  1 m.  radius,  whose  centre  is  the  centre  of 
the  imaginary  line  joining  your  two  ears.  The  circumference  of 
the  circle  can  easily  be  marked  off  into  72  parts,  i.e.,  into  units 
of  50.  Close  your  eyes.  The  assistant  tests  the  accuracy  with  which 
you  can  localise  sounds  coming  to  you  from  different  directions  by 
holding  a stop-watch,  on  a level  with  your  ear,  at  various  points  of 
the  circumference  of  the  circle.  Having  taken  up  his  position, 
he  touches  you  upon  the  hand  with  a rod,  and  starts  the  watch. 
You  hear  its  ticking,  and  point  with  another  rod  in  the  direction 
from  which  you  think  the  sound  comes. 


198 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


If  you  close  one  ear  with  cotton-wool,  you  will  find  that  your 
mistakes  will  be  much  larger  than  they  are  when  both  ears  are 
open.  You  have  no  longer  the  different  intensities  of  the  ticking, 
as  heard  by  the  two  ears,  to  guide  you  in  localising  it. 

It  is  always  easier  to  say  whether  a sound  comes  from  the 
right  or  the  left,  than  to  say  whether  it  comes  from  in  front  or 
behind.  In  the  first  case  you  have  different  tactual  sensations 
and  different  intensities  of  sound  in  the  two  ears  to  assist  your 
judgment ; in  the  latter  you  can  judge  only  from  the  absolute  in- 
tensity of  the  sound.  A sound  in  front  is  generally  louder  than  a 
sound  behind,  because  it  is  caught  by  the  pinnse,  and  reflected 
into  the  ear-passages.  Hence  if  you  tie  your  ears  back,  by  a piece 
of  tape,  and  place  your  two  hands  in  front  of  the  ear-passages,  the 
palm  facing  backwards,  you  will  find  your  ordinary  judgments  of 
‘ before  ’ and  ‘ behind  ’ reversed.  The  two  hands  act  as  two 
pinnae ; but  being  turned  in  the  opposite  direction,  they  catch 
sounds  coming  from  behind,  and  reflect  them  into  the  ear-passage, 
while  they  cut  off  sounds  coming  from  in  front.  What  before  was 
loud,  and  therefore  in  front,  is  now  weak,  and  therefore  behind,  and 
vice  versa. 

Our  idea  of  the  cdstance  of  a sound  is  accurate  only  when  the 
source  of  sound  is  familiar,  when  we  know  by  experience  how  far 
off  the  body  must  be  to  give  rise  to  the  sound  which  we  hear.  If 
the  perception  is  unfamiliar,  we  may  make  ludicrous  mistakes. 

(2)  The  other  form  of  simultaneous  association  — a 
form  of  extreme  importance  in  the  adult  consciousness  — 
is  word  association.  The  verbal  idea  contains  both  exten- 
sive and  qualitative  elements : in  its  most  perfect  form  it 
consists  of  an  auditory  complex,  a mixture  of  clang  and 
noise  (word  heard),  a strain  complex  due  to  the  adjust- 
ment of  larynx  and  mouth  necessary  for  the  emission  of  a 
particular  sound  (word  spoken),  a visual  complex,  a written 
or  printed  form  (word  seen),  and  the  strain  complex  due  to 
the  adjustment  of  hand  and  fingers  necessary  for  the  pro- 


§ 53-  Simultaneous  Association 


199 


duction  of  this  form  (word  written).  The  part  played  by 
the  verbal  idea  in  consciousness,  under  one  or  more  of 
these  four  aspects,  is  always  large,  although  its  actual 
range  differs  with  different  mental  constitutions  (§  35). 

The  verbal  idea  serves  two  purposes  in  simultaneous 
association.  It  may  arise  before  associative  supplement- 
ing is  at  an  end.  In  this  case,  it  aids  materially  in  the 
supplementing,  — sometimes,  indeed,  rendering  all  further 
supplements  unnecessary.  Or  it  may  arise  just  as  the 
supplementing  is  concluded,  and  clinch  the  association, 
putting  the  seal  of  finality  upon  it.  In  the  latter  case,  it 
is  oftentimes  difficult  to  say  whether  the  process  is  a simul- 
taneous or  a successive  association. 

The  verbal  idea  of  a given  consciousness  does  not  contain  all 
four  elements  (word  heard,  spoken,  seen  and  written)  in  equal 
proportions.  It  resembles  the  note  rather  than  the  chord ; one 
constituent  predominates  in  the  complex.  Sometimes  the  sound 
heard  is  all  that  comes  to  mind  : more  often  the  word  as  heard 
and  spoken.  If  the  visual  form  is  aroused,  it  nearly  always  brings 
the  auditory  idea  with  it.  The  writing-complex  hardly  ever  occurs 
without  the  visual  form,  and  therefore  hardly  ever  without  the  audi- 
tory idea  also.  In  every  case,  some  one  of  the  four  components 
is  predominant. 

Method.- — To  test  the  power  of  the  verbal  idea  as  an  aid  in 
associative  supplementing,  a method  may  be  followed  similar  to 
that  described  in  the  previous  paragraph.  Rough  drawings,  mere 
hints  of  the  objects  which  they  are  intended  to  represent,  are 
prepared.  A word  is  called  out  to  the  subject,  and  then  one  of 
the  drawings  shown  him,  — a drawing  of  something  closely  related 
to  the  object  denoted  by  the  word  called  out.  He  supplements 
the  drawing,  by  help  of  the  verbal  association,  and  so  ‘ sees  ’ a 
great  deal  more  than  is  actually  upon  the  cardboard. 

Or  the  original  method  may  be  followed  still  more  exactly. 
Let  us  suppose  that  the  extent  of  associative  supplementing  has 


200 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


been  determined,  by  means  of  a series  of  misspelled  words. 
Similar  series  are  again  presented  to  the  subject ; but  before 
each  word  is  shown,  a word  related  to  that  which  the  complex 
of  letters  is  intended  to  represent  is  called  out.  Associative  sup- 
plementing will  go  much  farther  than  it  did  before.  Without 
the  verbal  association,  siaye  may  have  been  the  most  mutilated 
impression  which  could  be  read  as  stage.  But  if  consciousness 
has  been  given  the  right  direction  by  the  calling  out  of  the  word 
‘ theatre,’  a form  like  aioye  may  be  supplemented  to  stage. 

Instances  of  the  power  of  the  verbal  idea  to  clinch  or  cement 
associative  supplementing  will  be  readily  furnished  from  the 
reader’s  own  experience.  A striking  illustration  is  that  of  the 
recognition  (§  70)  of  a friend,  who  has  not  been  seen  for  some 
time,  and  whom  one  meets  unexpectedly.  The  visual  picture  is 
supplemented  by  a number  of  ideas  (ideas  of  past  meetings,  their 
circumstances,  etc.)  ; but  the  recognition  does  not  become  abso- 
lute and  final  until  the  phrase  : “ Why,  it’s  Brown  ! ” has  come 
to  one’s  lips  or  mind.  It  can  be  shown  experimentally  that  those 
objects  are  best  remembered  and  most  easily  recognised  which 
can  be  denoted  by  specific  names  (§  73): 

Illusions. — Just  as  we  have  illusory  ideas,  ideas  which  repre- 
sent an  object  or  process  of  the  physical  world  in  a way  which 
the  measuring  eye  cannot  accept,  so  do  we  have  illusory  associa- 
tions of  ideas.  A given  impression  is  supplemented,  or  calls  up 
a verbal  idea,  under  certain  conditions  ; when  these  are  reduced 
to  standard  conditions,  the  association  proves  to  have  put  an 
erroneous  interpretation  upon  the  impression. 

It  is  frequently  impossible  to  disentangle,  with  any  degree  of 
certainty,  the  two  possible  factors  in  a particular  illusion.  It  may 
be  due  to  the  structure  or  mode  of  working  of  a sense-organ  : 
then  we  have  an  illusory  perception  or  idea  in  the  strict  meaning 
of  the  phrase.  But  the  illusion  may  also  be  due  to  associations. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  two  semicircles  of  Fig.  8.  The  closed 
figure  may  suggest  a strung  bow,  and  the  open  an  unstrung  bow  ; 
and  the  illusion  of  their  difference  may  result  from  this  associative 
supplement,  and  not  directly  from  eye  movement.  Or  take  the 


§ 53-  Simultaneous  Association  201 

l 

apparently  simple  illusion  of  the  greater  height  of  a square  figure. 
This  overestimation  of  the  vertical  lines  may  be  due  to  the  diffi- 
culty of  eye  movement  in  the  upward  direction.  But  it  may  also 
be  ascribed  to  associative  supplementing.  The  square  is  not 
broad-based  enough  to  suggest  a block  of  stone  lying  upon  the 
ground  ; that  which  is  to  give  us  the  idea  of  rest  must  be  longer 
than  it  is  high,  — must  resemble  the  prostrate  figure  of  a man. 
The  square  seems  to  be  striving  upwards,  to  be  raising  itself,  and 
to  be  ‘ holding  itself  together,’  squeezing  itself  in,  in  the  effort. 

Stroboscopic  illusions,  again,  might  be  occasioned  by  the  per- 
sistence of  after-images,  without  any  associative  supplementing  of 
the  photographs.  But  they  are  greatly  assisted  if  we  have  a clear 
idea  of  the  sort  of  movement  which  we  are  going  to  see,  before 
we  look  through  the  slits  in  the  cylinder. 

But  while  many  illusions  can  be  regarded  either  as  illusory 
ideas  or  as  illusory  associations  of  ideas,  there  are  some  which 
undoubtedly  have  their  source  in  association  alone.  Thus,  the 
sun  and  moon  look  smaller  to  us  when  they  are  directly  above 
our  heads,  at  the  zenith,  than  when  they  are  in  front  of  us,  at  the 
horizon.  It  is  difficult  to  see  any  reason  for  this  illusion  in  the 
structure  or  function  of  the  eyes.  On  the  other  hand,  ( 1 ) the  out- 
line of  the  discs  is  more  distinct  at  the  zenith  than  at  the  horizon, 
because  there  is  less  air  between  them  and  us,  and  what  there  is 
is  clearer,  less  misty  and  smoky.  Hence  they  seem  to  be  nearer. 
And  (2)  there  are  many  objects  — trees,  houses,  hills  — between 
ourselves  and  the  horizon ; none  between  us  and  the  zenith. 
Again,  then,  the  bodies  seem  to  be  nearer.  But  if  a nearer  and 
a remoter  object  occupy  the  same  space  in  the  field  of  vision,  the 
former  must  be  smaller  than  the  latter. 

The  same  holds  of  certain  illusions  which  involve  qualitative 
ideas.  The  ventriloquist  ‘ throws  ’ his  voice  into  some  inanimate 
object  at  a distance  from  him.  To  produce  the  illusion  at  which 
he  aims,  he  keeps  his  lips  as  far  as  possible  unmoved  during 
articulation,  raises  or  lowers  his  voice  beyond  its  natural  speaking 
pitch,  and  looks  steadfastly  at  the  object  to  which  he  wishes  the 
sounds  to  be  referred.  The  listener  knows  that  he  is  being  de- 
ceived ; but  the  illusion  may  be  so  complete  that  it  cannot  be 


202 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


wholly  destroyed  except  by  the  visual  perception  that  the  muscles 
of  the  performer’s  throat  are  twitching,  although  his  lips  are  still. 

Illusions  of  melody  are  similarly  produced.  When  we  are  wait- 
ing for  the  passage  of  a circus  procession,  we  ‘ hear  ’ the  music 
of  the  band  in  the  distance  many  times  over,  before  it  actually 
comes  within  the  range  of  audition  : some  chance  sound  is  as- 
sociatively  supplemented,  and  so  takes  the  form  of  a familiar 
melody. 

§ 54.  Successive  Association.  — We  found  only  a single 
difference  between  the  idea  or  perception  and  the  simul- 
taneous association  of  ideas : the  difference  that  the  ele- 
mentary processes  contained  in  the  idea  had  never  before 
been  connected  with  others,  while  the  elementary  pro- 
cesses contained  in  the  simultaneous  association  had 
already  played  a part  in  some  idea.  The  same  difference 
holds  between  the  idea  and  the  successive  association  of 

ideas.  But  there  is  a further  distinction,  which  enables 

* 

us  to  mark  off  the  successive  association  both  from  the 
idea  and  from  the  simultaneous  association,  — the  distinc- 
tion which  is  expressed  by  the  word  ‘ successive.’  We 
cannot  indicate  any  stages  in  the  formation  of  the  idea ; 
when  certain  conditions,  physical  and  mental,  are  realised, 
the  idea  emerges,  takes  shape  at  once.  Nor  can  we  indi- 
cate any  stages  in  the  formation  of  the  simultaneous  asso- 
ciation ; we  no  sooner  hear  the  noise,  than  the  visual 
picture  of  the  traction  engine  comes  up ; there  is  no 
‘before’  and  ‘after’  in  the  experience.  In  the  successive 
association,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  a clearly  marked 
division  of  the  whole  process  into  stages;  an  idea  arises, 
and  then  another  idea  is  connected  with  it. 

There  are  two  principal  forms  of  successive  association  : 
the  train  of  ideas  and  association  after  disjunction.  The 


§54-  Successive  Association 


20  3 


former  corresponds  to  the  associative  supplementing,  the 
latter  to  the  verbal  association  of  § 53. 

(1)  In  the  train  of  ideas  we  have  a continuous  series  of 
processes,  idea  following  idea  along  the  line  of  least 
mental  resistance,  without  restriction  of  any  kind.  Ideas 
come  and  go,  as  they  come  and  go  in  the  ‘ inattentive  ’ 
consciousness  of  the  child  or  the  animal  (§  40) ; there  is  no 
concentration,  no  converging  of  tendencies  ; consciousness 
is  conditioned  by  the  accidents  of  the  moment.  This 
form  of  successive  association  appears  whenever  we  fall 
into  a reverie,  or  grow  drowsy,  or  give  ourselves  up  to  the 
influence  of  our  surroundings,  — setting  out  on  a country 
walk,  eg.,  with  all  thoughts  of  the  routine  of  daily  occupa- 
tion banished  from  our  minds. 

Method.  — The  course  which  the  train  of  ideas  follows  in  dif- 
ferent consciousnesses  may  be  tested  by  experiment.  Series  of 
words  are  prepared,  care  being  taken  that  the  words  forming  a 
particular  series  differ  as  much  as  possible  in  meaning  and  char- 
acter ; thus,  two  verbs  should  not  be  placed  side  by  side,  some 
substantives  should  be  abstract  and  some  concrete,  etc.  The 
words  may  be  printed  on  cards,  which  are  shown  to  the  subject 
in  succession,  or  may  be  merely  pronounced  by  the  experimenter ; 
in  the  former  case  the  time  of  exposure  must  be  kept  constant 
and  must  be  short,  — say,  about  2 sec.  After  each  word  has 
been  presented,  a pause  of  some  10  sec.  is  made,  during  which 
the  subject  writes  down  the  ideas  which  the  word  has  suggested  to 
him,  i.e.,  which  have  been  associated  to  it  in  his  consciousness  in 
the  10  sec. 

The  experiments  may  be  made  individually,  upon  a single  sub- 
ject, or  collectively,  upon  a number  of  individuals.  In  either 
case,  the  results  must  be  carefully  analysed,  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  series,  by  experimenter  and  experimentee.  The  subject  must 
go  over  his  list  of  written  associations,  noting  (1)  the  sense 
department  from  which  each  idea  was  drawn,  (2)  the  period  of 


204 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


life  to  which  it  belongs,  and  (3)  the  idea  which  suggested  it. 
The  experimenter  must  then,  in  his  turn,  work  over  the  list, 
noting  (1)  the  relative  quickness  and  readiness  of  association  in 
different  individuals,  or  in  the  same  person  under  different  circum- 
stances, and  (2)  the  various  kinds  of  association  involved,  — the 
association  of  one  general  or  particular  idea  to  another  (co-ordina- 
tion), of  a particular  idea  to  a general  (subordination),  and  of  a 
general  idea  to  a particular  (superordination). 

Suppose,  e.g.,  that  the  first  word  of  a printed  series  was  the 
word  horse.  One  list  of  associations,  within  the  10  sec.,  might 
read  as  follows  : horse,  Prince,  heels,  stable,  straw,  cow,  dog.  The 
subject  would  analyse  this  list,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  series  of 
experiments,  somewhat  in  this  way  : — 

(1)  horse  : auditory  idea  ; present  time  ; suggested  by  the  written 

horse ; a simultaneous  association  (verbal  associa- 
tion) : 

(2)  Prince : mainly  visual,  idea  of  a particular  horse  ; childhood; 

suggested  by  horse  (successive) : 

(3)  heels : mainly  visual,  idea  of  a particular  incident  connected 

with  Prince ; childhood ; suggested  by  Prince 
(successive)  : 

(4)  stable:  visual  and  olfactory;  childhood  ; suggested  by  Prince 

(seemed  to  arise  simultaneously  with  heels ) : 

(5)  straw:  visual;  childhood;  suggested  by  stable  (successive): 

[here  the  train  of  ideas  switched  off  from  the  Prince  associations, 
and  the  original  idea  (visual  and  auditory)  of  horse  came  to  mind  :] 

(6)  cow : general  idea,  auditory  (verbal)  and  visual ; no  time  refer- 

ence ; suggested  by  horse  (successive)  : 

(7)  d°S:  general  idea,  auditory  (verbal)  and  visual;  no  time  refer- 

ence; seemed  to  be  suggested  by  cow,  though  pos- 
sibly due  to  horse. 

From  a large  number  of  series,  worked  over  in  this  way,  we 
can  discover  how  much  the  different  sense-organs  contribute  to 
the  furnishing  of  a particular  mind  with  ideas,  how  observant  and 
retentive  the  mind  is,  and  how  far  it  is  accustomed  to  pursue 


§ 54-  Successive  Association  205 

a single  topic  without  allowing  itself  to  be  interrupted  by  irrelevant 
ideas. 

The  experimenter  now  takes  the  same  list,  and  notes  that 
Prince  is  a particular  idea  associated  to  a general  idea,  horse 
(subordinate)  ; that  heels,  in  the  same  way,  is  subordinate  to 
Prince ; and  that  straw  is  subordinate  to  stable.  The  three  ideas 
of  horse,  cow,  and  dog  are  co-ordinate.  The  relation  of  stable  to 
Prince  is  doubtful : the  two  may  be  co-ordinate,  or  stable  may  be 
superordinate,  — the  home  of  a series  of  particular  horses.  By 
calculating  the  proportions  of  the  three  types  of  association  in 
a large  number  of  experiments,  the  experimenter  can  ascertain 
the  way  in  which  the  subject  ordinarily  thinks,  i.e.,  his  intellectual 
constitution  (§  35).  He  also  notes  that  in  this  case  there  were 
seven  ideas  aroused  in  the  10  sec.  ( Prince , heels,  stable,  straw, 
horse,  cow,  dog). 

(2)  Association  after  disjunction  consists,  as  its  name 
implies,  in  the  coming  together  again  of  ideas  which  were 
originally  together,  but  have  somehow  become  separated. 
The  best  illustration  of  this  form  of  successive  association 
is  the  connection  of  auditory  ideas  in  the  sentence.  The 
whole  ‘thought,’  i.e.,  complex  of  ideas,  which  the  sentence 
expresses  must  form  part  of  our  consciousness,  however 
vaguely,  before  we  begin  to  speak ; otherwise  we  could 
not  carry  the  sentence  to  its  conclusion  without  hesitation 
and  mistake. 

The  disjunction  is  due  to  the  attention;  the  rejoining  is 
a successive  association.  Suppose  that  I say  to  myself : 
“That  chord  contains  the  notes  c,  e,  g\”  The  chord  is 
given  as  a total  impression  ; it  is  a complex  of  simultane- 
ously sounding  tones.  But  the  attention  fixes  for  some 
reason  (§38)  upon  one  of  the  constituent  tone  complexes, 
the  note  c.  This  is  rendered  prominent  and  distinct, 
while  the  remaining  constituents  are  blurred  and  weak- 


206 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


ened.  The  impression  is  thus  split  up,  its  components 
dissociated.  The  attention  soon  relaxes  from  its  first 
object,  and  the  other  two  notes  receive,  in  turn,  their 
share  of  notice.  The  whole  complex  is  thus  reviewed, 
part  by  part,  and  put  together  again  in  the  sentence  : “It 
contains  the  notes  c,  e,  g.” 

The  successive  association  in  this  and  similar  instances  has  the 
character  of  completeness  or  finality  (</.  the  verbal  association 
of  § 53).  The  ‘ thought  ’ is  complete  when  a certain  number  of 
words  have  been  uttered  ; the  chord  is  done  with  when  the  three 
constituent  notes  have  been  re-associated ; the  melody  is  com- 
plete when  a certain  number  of  chords  have  sounded.  The  final- 
ity is  a necessary  consequence  of  the  fact  that  the  association  is 
based  upon  a foregoing  dissociation ; the  whole  is  given  before 
its  parts  are  discerned  ; the  associative  process  comes  to  its  nat- 
ural end  when  the  dissociated  parts  have  been  put  together  again. 
The  train  of  ideas,  on  the  other  hand,  is  absolutely  lacking  in 
finality ; it  never  dies  a natural  death,  but  must  be  violently 
interrupted,  if  it  is  to  come  to  a conclusion. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  association  after 
disjunction  is  a mere  putting  together  of  what  has  been  pulled 
apart,  of  the  original  raw  material.  The  attention,  in  singling 
out  some  factor  in  the  original  complex,  renders  it  more  promi- 
nent and  therefore  more  liable  to  be  associatively  supplemented. 
The  parts  which  are  put  together  again,  by  way  of  successive 
association,  are  put  together  only  after  they  have  been  modified, 
worked  over,  by  way  of  simultaneous  association.  If  I swallow 
a draught  of  lemonade,  and,  finding  it  very  sweet,  say : “ How 
sweet  this  stuff  is  ! ” I am  not  simply  putting  together  sweetness 
and  the  other  constituent  lemonade-processes  as  they  were  given 
in  the  original  idea.  The  sweetness  has  attracted  the  attention ; 
it  has  been  disjoined  from  its  surroundings,  and  supplemented 
by  ideas  of  the  right  amount  of  sweetness,  by  sensations  of  nau- 
sea, etc.  We  have  no  longer  a single  idea,  containing  the  cle- 
ment ‘ very  sweet  ’ ; we  have  two  ideas,  a successive  association 


§§  54>  55-  Successive  Association  ; Law  of  Association  207 

of  ideas,  — the  original  idea  having  been  followed  by  the  worked- 
over  idea  of  sweetness.  In  the  same  way,  the  statement  of  a 
scientific  theory  is  not  a simple  re-collection  of  facts  which  have 
been  presented  together,  but  separately  attended  to  : it  is  the 
re-collection  of  these  facts  after  they  have  been  associatively 
supplemented,  i.e.,  referred  to  their  conditions. 

Psychologically  regarded,  all  instances  of  judgment  fall  under 
this  second  heading  of  successive  association.  Take,  e.g.,  the 
judgment : “ The  waste-paper  basket  is  under  the  table.”  Here 
we  have  an  original  whole,  a visual  complex  including  local  ideas 
of  basket  and  table.  The  two  constituents  are  disjoined  by  the 
attention,  and  reunited  after  the  idea  of  position  has  been  made 
explicit.  Or  suppose  that  we  walk  into  a strange  village  and 
say  : “ That  must  be  the  hotel  ! ” We  have  a visual  complex, 
the  idea  of  a certain  house,  from  which  the  attention  dissociates 
all  the  hotel-like  elements.  These  are  supplemented,  and  form 
the  hotel  idea,  which  succeeds  the  original  house-hotel  complex. 

Method.  — To  test  the  formation  of  successive  associations  of 
this  type,  the  following  plan  may  be  adopted.  Show  the  subject, 
for  a short  time,  a complex  visual  impression,  — the  picture  of  a 
street  or  ceremony  or  landscape,  — an  impression,  i.e.,  which  is 
too  complicated  to  be  grasped  by  one  pulse  of  the  attention. 
Let  him  then  write  a description  of  it,  trying  to  reconstruct  it 
as  a whole,  and  putting  down  his  ideas  in  the  order  in  which  they 
occur  to  him ; that  is,  in  the  order  in  which  the  various  parts  of 
the  picture  attracted  his  attention.  As  he  writes,  more  and  more 
ideas  will  occur  to  him  ; so  that  the  process  of  reconstruction 
will  take  the  form  of  a successive  association. 

A train  of  illusory  ideas  is  termed  a hallucination.  Hallucinations 
do  not  occur  in  the  normal  mind.  We  have  instances  of  them  in 
dreaming  and  in  the  visual  phantasies  of  alcoholic  delirium.  Illu- 
sory judgments  are  termed  fallacies,  when  formed  in  a normal  con- 
sciousness ; delusions,  when  they  appear  as  a symptom  of  insanity. 

§ 55.  The  Law  of  Association.  — The  fundamental  law  of 
the  association  of  ideas  may  be  stated  in  almost  the  same 


208 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


words  as  those  which  we  used  in  accounting  for  the  sin- 
gleness or  unity  of  the  idea.  What  the  organism  finds 
together  in  the  world  in  which  it  lives,  we  said,  remains 
together  in  perception  or  idea.  But  one  and  the  same 
kind  of  elementary  mental  process  may  be  concerned  in 
many  different  adjustments  to  physical  surroundings,  and 
will  therefore  have  a tendency  to  connect  with  processes 
which  form  part  of  many  different  ideas.  This  fact  is  the 
key  to  association.  All  the  connections  set  tip  between  sen- 
sations by  the  formation  of  ideas  tend  to  persist,  even  when 
the  original  conditions  of  connection  are  no  longer  fulfilled. 

Let  us  apply  this  law  to  the  four  cases  of  association  which  we 
have  described. 

(1)  Associative  Supplementing.  — Here  we  have  a complex  of 
sensations,  abc,  some  or  all  of  which  have  been  connected,  in  past 
experience,  with  other  elementary  processes,  xyz.  Hence,  when- 
ever ab  or  abc  appears,  xyz  tends  to  appear  with  it. 

A rumbling  noise,  abc,  is  heard.  Our  idea  of  a heavy  vehicle 
includes,  as  part-processes,  the  noise,  abc,  and  a complex  of  visual 
sensations,  xyz.  Hence  as  the  noise  is  heard,  the  visual  complex 
is  aroused  also ; the  noise  is  supplemented  by  the  other  compo- 
nents of  the  idea  of  a heavy  vehicle. 

Or  we  have  the  idea  of  a clearly  outlined  hill,  abc.  Our  idea 
of  nearness,  xyz,  has  been  connected,  in  past  experience,  with  the 
idea  of  clearness  of  outline,  ab.  Hence  when  we  see  the  hill,  abc, 
we  have  at  once  the  idea  of  its  nearness  : ab\_c\  is  supplemented 
by  xyz. 

(2)  Verbal  Association. — Verbal  association  takes  place  in 
precisely  the  same  way  as  associative  supplementing.  The  only 
reasons  for  separating  the  two  processes  are,  first,  that  the  verbal 
idea  is  the  most  important  of  all  the  supplementary  ideas,  — some- 
times, indeed,  as  in  the  instance  of  a verbal  ‘local  sign’  (§  44), 
rendering  all  further  supplement  unnecessary,  — and  secondly, 
that  the  verbal  association  is  on  the  boundary  line  between  the 


§ 55-  The  Law  of  Association  209 

simultaneous  and  the  successive  association,  (a)  The  word  is 
important  because  it  is,  so  to  speak,  the  common  denominator 
of  all  ideas  alike  ; words  are  the  medium  by  which  we  communi- 
cate ideas  to  one  another,  whatever  the  ideas  may  be.  Hence 
the  verbal  idea  is  the  richest  of  all  ideas  in  habits  of  connection  ; 
it  has  the  greatest  tendency  to  associate,  as  well  as  the  greatest 
range  of  association.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  the  word  which,  as 
the  single  expression  of  a complex  of  sensations,  gives  definite- 
ness or  finality  to  that  complex.  (b)  That  verbal  association  lies 
on  the  border-line  between  the  simultaneous  and  the  successive 
forms  of  association  is  shown  by  the  two  instances  of  the  traction 
engine  and  the  hotel.  Had  the  noise  been  a little  less  definite  in 
its  suggestion,  we  might  have  thought  for  a moment,  and  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  was  due  to  a traction  engine  (successive 
association).  Had  the  village  hotel  been  a little  more  definite 
in  its  suggestion,  a little  more  clearly  a hotel,  the  word  ‘ hotel  ’ 
might  have  arisen  in  our  minds  as  soon  as  we  saw  the  building 
(simultaneous  association) . 

We  may  refer  to  our  first  illustration.  The  noise  abc  has 
aroused  the  visual  complex,  xyz.  The  words  ‘ traction  engine,’ 
which  we  may  represent  by  pqr,  have  been  constantly  connected 
with  this  visual  complex.  Hence  given  abc , and  we  have  abcxyz ; 
given  xyz,  and  we  have  xyzpqr.  Given  the  noise,  and  we  have 
visual  picture  and  name  of  the  vehicle. 

(3)  The  Train  of  Ideas.  — This  is  easily  reduced  to  the  same 
formula.  The  written  word  horse  is  supplemented  by  the  audi- 
tory idea  of  horse  ; abc  becomes  abcxyz.  But  there  are  some 
elements,  x,  common  to  my  ideas  of  horse  and  of  Prince ; on 
the  one  hand  I have  abcxyz,  on  the  other,  say,  xdef.  When  the 
former  is  given,  therefore,  the  latter  comes  up.  But  again,  there 
are  elements,  /,  common  to  my  idea  of  Prince  and  to  my  idea 
of  stable ; on  the  one  hand  I have  xdef,  on  the  other,  %2ey,fgh. 
When  the  former  is  given,  therefore,  the  latter  comes  up.  And 
so  on. 

(4)  Associatio?i  after  Disjunction.  — We  have  a complex,  abed. 
This  is  divided  up  by  the  attention  into  ab  and  cd.  The  former 
is  supplemented  to  abxy,  the  latter  to  cdpq.  We  then  have  the 

p 


210 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


successive  association  ab  [ed]xy  - \_abfdpq ; the  two  supple- 
mented ideas  associate,  because  of  the  association  of  abed  in  the 
original  complex.  — Or  we  have  the  original  complex,  abed.  Some 
one  part-process,  e,  attracts  the  attention,  and  is  supplemented. 
We  then  have  the  successive  association  abed-exy. 

The  chord  e-e-g  is  given.  It  is  divided  up  into  its  three  notes, 
and  each  of  the  notes  is  supplemented  by  a word,  the  name  of  the 
note.  The  three  notes  are  then  associated,  the  ground  of  their 
connection  lying  in  the  fact  of  their  having  been  together  in  the 
chord.  — Or  a hot  room  is  given,  and  the  heat  attracts  the  atten- 
tion. The  heat-idea  is  supplemented,  and  this  supplemented  idea 
associated  to  the  whole  complex. 

We  can,  then,  express  the  law  of  association  by  the  formula 
ab  — be.  One  idea  calls  up  another  when  it  contains  elements 
which  are  common  to  it  and  that  other.  Connections  once 
formed  (be)  tend  to  persist  even  when  the  conditions  of  their 
formation  are  not  realised  (when  only  ab  is  given). 

All  connections  set  up  between  sensations  by  the  for- 
mation of  ideas  tend  to  persist.  It  is  the  business  of 
psychology  to  discover  under  what  conditions  they  actu- 
ally do  persist,  — why  it  is  that  now  this  and  now  that 
idea  is  associated  to  the  same  impression.  The  conditions 
of  persistence  are  partly  external  and  partly  internal.  On 
the  one  hand  frequency  of  association  in  the  outside  world 
assures  stability  of  connection  in  consciousness ; on  the 
other,  our  mental  constitution  decides  what  shall  be  the 
line  of  least  associative  resistance.  In  a given  instance, 
these  conditions  may  vary  somewhat : the  recency  of  an 
occurrence,  eg.,  may  give  it  the  same  power  of  connec- 
tion that  it  would  have  gained  by  frequent  repetition, 
and  the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  of  an  event, 
i.e.,  its  hold  over  the  attention,  may  give  it  the  same 
power  of  connection  that  it  would  have  possessed  in  its 


§ 55'  The  Law  of  Association  211 

own  right  had  it  appealed  to  our  specific  mental  constitu- 
tion. 

Method.  — The  special  conditions  of  the  association  of  ideas 
in  a particular  consciousness  at  a particular  time  can  be  deter- 
mined only  by  a careful  analysis  of  experimental  results,  carried 
out  along  the  lines  indicated  in  the  foregoing  Section.  At  present 
so  few  investigations  have  been  made  that  it  is  hardly  possible  to 
say  anything  more  than  has  been  said,  in  general  terms,  in  the 
text.  Another  method  for  testing  the  quickness  of  different 
associations  will  be  described  in  Ch.  XIV. 

In  the  older  psychologies  various  laws  of  association  were 
recognised  : association  by  similarity,  association  by  contiguity, 
association  by  cause  and  effect,  etc.  These  are  in  reality  not  laws, 
in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  but  sub-forms  of  one  type  of  succes- 
sive association,  — the  train  of  ideas.  If  the  association  took  the 
form  abcd-bcde,  it  was  called  an  association  by  similarity ; if  it 
took  the  form  abcd-axyz,  an  association  by  contiguity ; if  axyz 
happened  to  be  the  effect  of  abed,  an  association  by  cause  and 
effect. 

Thus  suppose  that  the  idea  of  ‘ Alexander  the  Great  ’ suggests 
that  of  ‘Napoleon.’  This  would  have  been  called  an  association 
by  similarity.  But  its  formula  evidently  is  : Alexander,  general, 
conqueror,  — Napoleon,  general,  conqueror.  There  is  no  new 
‘ law  ’ involved ; it  is  our  own  law  ab-bc  with  the  b elements  pre- 
ponderant. Or  suppose  that  the  idea  ‘ cow  ’ suggests  that  of  ‘ milk- 
maid.’ This  would  have  been  called  an  association  by  contiguity. 
But  its  formula  is  : cow,  cow  in  field,  cow  being  milked,  — milk- 
maid, cow  being  milked.  Again,  there  is  no  new  law  involved ; 
it  is  our  law  ab-bc,  with  the  a and  c elements  preponderant. 

It  is,  then,  a mistake  to  speak  of  these  forms  of  association  as 
‘laws.’  The  mistake  arose  from  the  habit  of  considering  ideas  as 
permanent  wholes,  ‘ bits  ’ of  mind,  which  were  joined  together 
as  wholes.  The  fluidity  of  the  idea,  and  all  the  facts  of  associa- 
tive supplementing,  were  unnoticed. 


212 


The  Association  of  Ideas 


Very  little  is  known  in  detail  of  the  physiological  processes  which 
correspond  to  the  mental  processes  of  association.  We  know  that 
the  more  frequently  any  organ  has  been  in  action,  the  more  easily 
is  it  set  in  action;  the  tendency  to  act  grows  with  action.  We 
must  suppose,  further,  that  the  tendency  of  two  parts  of  the  brain 
to  act  together  grows  with  every  instance  of  joint  action.  The 
supposition  is  borne  out  by  what  we  know  of  the  brain’s  mode  of 
working.  We  shall  return  to  the  point  in  § 76. 


CHAPTER  IX 


Feeling  and  Emotion 

§ 56.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Feeling.  — Consciousness 
can  never  be  wholly  affective,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  sen- 
sation processes.  This  can  be  shown  in  two  ways.  On 
the  one  hand,  consciousness  is  always  complex,  consists 
always  of  more  than  one  elementary  process.  But  the 
affection  of  any  particular  moment  is  a single  affection; 
however  numerous  the  stimuli  which  are  presented  at  that 
moment,  their  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  is  one  in 
our  experience  (§  32).  And  as  there  are  no  ‘mixed 
feelings,’  no  simultaneous  associations  of  pleasantness 
and  unpleasantness,  there  must  be  something  besides 
affection  present  to  constitute  a consciousness.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  follows  at  once  from  the  definition  of 
affection  that  an  affective  process  cannot  be  the  whole 
of  consciousness.  An  affection  is  the  conscious  repre- 
sentative of  the  way  in  which  the  organism  takes  certain 
impressions.  But  there  can  be  no  way  of  taking  unless 
there  are  impressions  to  take,  — i.e.,  unless  sensations  are 
set  up  at  the  same  time  as  the  affection. 

Although,  therefore,  consciousness  may  very  well  con- 
sist solely  of  sensation  processes,  — ideas  or  connections 
of  ideas  which  are  of  such  slight  intensity  as  not  to  excite 
pleasantness,  or  of  so  habitual  occurrence  as  to  have  be- 
come indifferent,  — no  consciousness  is  exclusively  affec- 

213 


214 


Feeling  and  Emotion 

tive.  Ideas  can  stand  alone,  without  affection  ; affection 
cannot  stand  alone,  without  the  support  of  sensation  or  idea. 

The  simplest  concrete  process  in  which  affection  pre- 
ponderates is  the  feeling.  The  feeling  stands  on  the  same 
level  of  mental  development  as  the  perception  or  idea ; 
it  is  in  reality  a complex  process,  composed  of  a perception 
or  idea  and  affection,  in  which  affection  plays  the  princi- 
pal part.  As  a rule,  the  greater  number  of  the  constituent 
sensations  are  either  indifferent,  or  but  weakly  pleasant 
or  unpleasant,  while  a minority  stand  out  distinctly  as  the 
supporters  of  an  intense  affection.  Thus  the  feeling  that 
arises  when  we  cut  our  finger  contains  visual  and  cutane- 
ous sensations,  which  are  indifferent ; the  common  sen- 
sation of  pain,  which  stands  out  above  these ; and  a 
strongly  unpleasant  affection,  which  attaches  to  the 
pain.  We  term  the  feeling,  in  so  many  words,  a ‘ feel- 
ing of  pain.’  And  we  say  in  the  same  way,  that  we  ‘feel 
warm,’  ‘feel  tired,’  ‘ feel  thirsty,’  ‘feel  giddy,’  etc.,  naming 
the  feeling  in  each  case  from  the  strongest  sensation  or 
group  of  sensations  in  the  complex. 

The  strongest  sensation,  it  must  be  remembered,  is  not  so 
strong  as  the  affection.  The  fact  can  best  be  shown  symboli- 
cally. It  we  denote  sensation  by  s and  affection  by  a,  and  fur- 
ther employ  large  and  small  letters  to  express  different  degrees 
of  intensity  in  these  processes,  we  can  indicate  the  composition 
of  the  feeling  by  the  formula  ssA. 

The  compound  sS  would  then  be  an  indifferent  perception. 
We  often  have,  in  experience,  sSa  or  sSa  ; a complex  in  which 
the  strongest  sensation  is  stronger  than  the  affection.  In  such 
cases,  we  speak  not  of  a feeling,  but  of  an  ‘ affectively  toned 
idea.’  Suppose,  e.g.,  that  we  cut  our  finger  with  a razor.  We 
might  be  struck,  at  the  moment,  rather  by  the  extreme  sharp- 


§ 5 6.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Feeling  215 

ness  of  the  blade  than  by  the  pain  of  the  wound.  We  should 
then  have  not  a feeling  of  pain,  but  an  unpleasantly  toned  idea 
of  sharpness. 

Practically,  it  is  not  hard  to  draw  the  distinction  between 
feeling  and  affectively  toned  idea ; the  two  are  sufficiently  well- 
marked  in  actual  experience.  In  scientific  analysis,  however, 
they  differ  only  in  the  amount  of  their  affective  constituent ; and, 
as  we  have  no  means  of  measuring  this  amount  at  all  accurately, 
psychology  can  distinguish  them  only  by  the  general  statement 
that  the  feeling  is  more  affection  than  it  is  idea,  the  affectively 
toned  idea  more  idea  than  it  is  affection. 

We  have  noticed  the  fact  that  impressions  which  are 
frequently  repeated  become  indifferent.  The  organism 
adapts  itself  to  them,  and  their  pleasantness  or  unpleasant- 
ness ‘wears  off.’  It  is  an  evident  corollary  to  this  that  the 
ideas  which  are  of  greatest  service  to  us  as  the  sources  of 
knowledge  of  the  physical  world,  and  which  are  therefore 
most  often  ‘ handled  ’ by  us  in  acquiring  or  imparting 
knowledge,  are  least  likely  to  play  any  large  part  in  the 
formation  of  feelings.  They  become  stereotyped,  so  to 
speak;  they  are  attended  to  not  for  their  own  sake,  but  for 
the  sake  of  what  they  mean.  They  are,  as  a matter  of 
fact,  always  in  process ; their  composition  varies,  and  the 
relative  intensity,  duration,  etc.,  of  their  components  also 
change.  But  we  take  them  for  granted,  supplementing 
them  as  the  proof-reader  supplements  misspelled  words 
(§  53)-  And  at  the  same  time  that  we  overlook  slight 
changes  in  their  contents,  we  lose  the  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness  which  once  attached  to  them. 

There  can  be  no  question  of  the  correctness  of  this  corollary 
as  regards  sight  and  hearing.  These  two  senses  are  in  constant 
exercise  ; sight  for  reading,  and- hearing  for  conversation,  listening 
to  lectures,  etc.  We  are  perfectly  indifferent  to  the  great  major- 


216 


Feeling  and  Emotion 


ity  of  the  visual  impressions  which  we  receive  in  the  course  of  a 
day.  It  is  only  when  they  are  too  strong,  as  when  snow  dazzles 
the  eye,  that  they  are  markedly  unpleasant ; and  only  by  contrast, 
as  ‘ restful  ’ or  ‘ quiet,’  that  they  are  markedly  pleasant.  It  is  true 
that  we  speak  of  ‘ feeling  blue,’  ‘ feeling  dull,’  etc.,  and  say  that 
‘things  have  a black  look.’  But  these  are  metaphorical  expres- 
sions, referring  to  the  promise  of  bad  weather  in  a lowering  sky, 
etc.  — Just  the  same  thing  holds  of  clangs  and  noises. 

But  there  seem  to  be  important  exceptions  to  the  rule  in  cer- 
tain organic  sensations  (not  in  all:  cf.  §§  17,  44  ff),  and  in  the 
ideas  founded  upon  smell  and  taste.  So  far  are  these  ideas  from 
being  indifferent,  that  we  ordinarily  classify  smells  and  tastes  as 
agreeable  and  disagreeable,  while  the  organic  sensations  are  merged 
in  the  feelings  of  bodily  comfort  and  discomfort.  Yet  all  three 
are  of  frequent  occurrence. 

The  difficulty  disappears  when  we  consider  the  conditions  under 
which  the  ideas  and  sensations  in  question  arise.  (1)  Organic 
sensations  give  us  knowledge  of  a very  important  part  of  the  phys- 
ical world,  our  own  body  ; they  are  set  up  by  some  change  within 
a bodily  organ,  not  by  any  outside  stimulus.  Now  a change  in  any 
of  the  principal  organs  must  stand  in  intimate  relation  to  the  state  of 
the  nervous  system  ; and  the  state  of  the  nervous  system,  anabo- 
lism or  catabolism,  is  the  physical  condition  of  affection.  Hence 
if  the  organic  sensations  attain  to  any  considerable  degree  of 
intensity,  we  must  attend  to  them,  and  must  feel  them  to  be 
pleasant  or  unpleasant.  An  organism  which  could  disregard 
them  would  have  carried  its  indifference  too  far,  and  would 
quickly  perish.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  sensations  are  weak, 
they  pass  unremarked,  i.e.,  are  indifferent.  — We  have  here,  then, 
no  real  exception  to  the  rule.  Any  intensive  impression  attracts 
the  attention.  The  apparent  exception  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
certain  organic  sensations,  owing  to  the  peculiar  conditions  under 
which  they  arise,  attract  the  attention  more  forcibly  and  exclusively 
than  do  the  sensations  of  sight  and  hearing.  (2)  Smells  and  tastes 
may  become  indifferent : the  surgeon  does  not  notice  the  smell  of 
the  dissecting  room,  the  gardener  the  fragrance  of  the  hothouse, 
the  smoker  the  tobacco-laden  air  of  his  study ; and  those  whose 


§ 5 6.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Feeling  217 

diet  is  regular  take  their  accustomed  dishes  day  by  day  without 
thought  of  the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  of  what  they  eat  and 
drink.  But  smell  and  taste,  like  the  organic  sensations,  occupy  a 
peculiar  position  among  the  senses.  In  the  first  place,  they  are  of 
extreme  practical  importance  to  the  organism,  standing  guard  as 
they  do  over  respiration  and  digestion.  Hence  a small  variation 
in  a smell-taste  complex,  anything  unfamiliar  in  a familiar  setting, 
will  attract  the  attention  more  quickly  and  forcibly  than  would  a 
much  larger  difference  in  other  sense  departments.  We  cannot 
afford  to  neglect  smells  and  tastes.  Secondly,  however,  affections 
are  often  ascribed  to  smell  and  taste  which  really  belong  to  the 
organic  sensations.  Thus,  a meal  may  be  very  pleasant,  despite 
the  accustomedness  of  the  dishes  set  before  us.  The  pleasantness 
is  in  this  case  a digestive  pleasantness,  derived  from  the  satisfac- 
tion of  hunger ; but  it  may  very  well  be  referred  to  the  ‘ appetis- 
ing ’ smell  and  agreeable  taste  of  the  meats. 

It  may  be  said,  too,  that  smells,  tastes  and  most  of  the  organic 
sensations,  familiar  as  they  are,  are  not  so  entirely  habitual  as 
sights  and  sounds.  They  are  not  used  as  symbols  for  the  recep- 
tion or  imparting  of  general  knowledge,  as  written  and  spoken 
words  are.  Where  this  is  the  case,  where  they  are  thought-coun- 
ters which  can  be  passed  from  man  to  man,  as  coin  is  passed  in 
exchange  for  goods  of  all  kinds,  they  lose  a large  part  of  their 
intrinsic  capacity  to  evoke  affection.  Thus  the  savage,  who  uses 
the  sense  of  smell,  much  more  frequently  than  civilised  man,  to 
gain  knowledge  of  the  outside  world,  is  far  less  affected  by  the 
pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  of  odours.  An  attempt  has  been 
made,  experimentally,  to  develope  a smell-arithmetic ; and  it  has 
been  found  that  simple  additions  and  subtractions  can  be  per- 
formed by  the  help  of  smell-ideas  alone.  If  any  one  were  to  take 
the  trouble  to  carry  this  arithmetic  still  further,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  the  smells  employed  in  it  would  grow  entirely  indif- 
ferent, — as  indifferent  as  articular  pressures. 

Touch,  as  might  be  expected,  stands  midway  between  these 
two  groups  of  senses.  The  tactual  differences  of  roughness  and 
smoothness,  stiffness  and  softness,  dryness  and  wetness,  etc.,  prove 
to  be  distinctly  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  if  the  attention  is  directed 


2 I 8 


Feeling  and  Emotion 

to  them.  Nevertheless,  we  touch  a great  many  objects  in  the 
course  of  a day  with  complete  indifference. 

The  feeling  is  a mixture  of  perception  and  affection,  in 
which  the  affection  preponderates.  Hence  feelings  can- 
not be  satisfactorily  classified  except  in  terms  of  affection, 
the  strongest  part-process.  Now  there  are  only  two  quali- 
ties of  affection  : pleasantness  and  unpleasantness;  and 
there  are,  accordingly,  only  two  kinds  or  classes  of  feel- 
ings : pleasant  feelings  and  unpleasant  feelings.  But  as 
very  many  different  perceptions  may  enter  into  one  class 
of  feelings,  there  will  be  many  shades  or  varieties  of  feel- 
ing within  each  class.  Thus  the  feeling  of  warmth  and 
the  feeling  of  satiety  are  both  pleasant  feelings,  feelings  of 
the  same  kind ; but  the  difference  of  the  sensation  pro- 
cesses contained  in  them  makes  a difference  in  the  whole 
feeling.  Language,  as  we  have  seen,  avails  itself  of  such 
differences ; feelings  are  named  after  the  strongest  con- 
stituent sensation. 

It  is  often  asserted  that  there  are  a great  number  of  different 
feeling  qualities ; that  affective  experience  is  as  rich  in  qualities 
as  sensible  experience.  It  is  rather  true,  as  stated  in  the  text, 
that  there  are  only  two  qualities  of  feeling,  — the  qualities  of 
pleasantness  and  unpleasantness ; but  the  complexity  of  sensible 
experience  shows  through  the  affective  overlay  in  the  various 
concrete  feelings.  The  differences  between  feeling  and  feeling 
within  each  class  are  entirely  due  to  differences  in  the  quality 
of  component  sensations ; but  as  the  predominant  quality  of  the 
whole  is  an  affective  quality,  these  differences  are  — naturally,  but 
quite  wrongly  — attributed  to  affection.  The  difference  between 
the  ‘ feeling  of  giddiness  ’ and  the  ‘ feeling  of  suffocation  ’ lies  in 
their  sensible  factors,  not  in  their  affective  constituents.  They 
differ  as  giddiness  and  suffocation  differ  : as  unpleasantness,  they 
are  the  same. 


§ 57-  Tlie  Nature  of  Emotion  219 

We  may  speak  of  illusory  feelings,  in  the  sense  that  there  is 
an  affective  contrast  observable  when  feelings  of  different  kinds 
follow  one  another  in  consciousness.  Affective  contrast  appears 
under  the  same  conditions  as  sensation  contrast.  If  a moderately 
pleasant  is  followed  by  a moderately  unpleasant  feeling,  the  un- 
pleasantness of  the  latter  is  intensified,  and  vice  versa.  Very 
weak  feelings  do  not  contrast : there  is  not  enough  affection 
present.  And  very  strong  feelings  shake  the  nervous  system  too 
violently  for  contrast  effects  to  be  manifested.  The  criminal, 
reprieved  from  death,  cannot  realise  his  good  fortune  at  first; 
he  is  merely  dazed. 

§ 57.  The  Nature  of  Emotion.  — The  emotion  stands 
upon  the  same  level  of  mental  development  as  the  simul- 
taneous association  of  ideas.  On  the  side  of  sensation, 
consciousness  advances  beyond  the  stage  of  a patchwork 
of  perceptions  or  ideas ; the  factors  in  different  ideas  run 
together  and  form  larger  wholes,  each  of  which  corre- 
sponds, not  to  an  object  or  process,  but  to  what  we  may 
call  a situation  or  incident  in  the  physical  world.  On 
the  side  of  affection,  consciousness  advances  beyond  the 
simple  feeling  to  the  emotion.  The  organism  does  more 
than  ‘ feel  cold  ’ and  ‘ feel  unwell  ’ : it  feels  the  pleasant- 
ness or  unpleasantness  of  a certain  total  situation  or  pre- 
dicament, of  the  whole  complex  of  ideas  which  represents 
a certain  concurrence  of  processes  or  collocation  of  objects 
in  the  outside  world.  On  the  one  hand,  we  have  a rum- 
bling noise,  interrupted  by  a shrill  scream  : these  ideas 
are  supplemented  by  the  ideas  of  a child  and  a wagon : 
and  the  whole  complex  of  ideas  suggests  at  once  that  an 
accident  has  happened.  On  the  other,  this  accident  is 
felt,  in  its  totality ; we  have  the  emotion  of  pity  or  of  fear. 

The  conditions  under  which  an  emotion  arises  will,  then, 
be  somewhat  as  follows.  We  set  out  with  a consciousness, 


220  Feeling  and  Emotion 

composed  of  a number  of  ideas,  more  or  less  distinct,  and 
more  or  less  pleasant  or  unpleasant.  This  consciousness 
is  suddenly  interrupted  by  an  idea  to  which  the  attention 
is  forcibly  attracted  (passive  attention).  The  idea  is 
immediately  supplemented  by  other  ideas,  and  a simulta- 
neous association  is  formed,  reflecting  a scene  or  situation 
in  the  physical  world.  The  situation  is  of  such  a kind  that 
the  organism,  in  obedience  to  biological  law,  must  feel  it  to 
be  pleasant  or  unpleasant.  At  this  stage  we  have,  there- 
fore, a complicated  feeling  set  in  the  midst  of  the  original 
consciousness.  The  feeling  is  so  powerful,  however,  that 
the  original  processes  are  now  upon  the  verge  of  disap- 
pearance. 

An  organism  which  is  called  upon  to  face  a particular 
situation  must  do  so  by  a particular  bodily  adjustment,  a 
special  bodily  attitude  or  set  of  bodily  movements.  This 
adjustment  is  taking  place  at  the  same  time  that  the  com- 
plicated feeling,  just  described,  is  ousting  the  processes  of 
which  the  original  consciousness  was  composed.  As  it 
takes  place,  various  organic  sensations  are  set  up,  — the 
direct  results  of  the  changes  in  the  position,  tension,  etc., 
of  the  various  bodily  organs  involved.  These  organic 
sensations  associate  to  the  mass  of  ideas  contained  in  the 
feeling,  and  together  with  that  feeling  constitute  the 
emotion. 

It  is  essential,  then,  for  the  formation  of  an  emotion : 
(i)  that  a train  of  ideas  shall  be  interrupted  by  a vivid 
feeling ; (2)  that  this  feeling  shall  mirror  a situation  or 
incident  in  the  outside  world;  and  (3)  that  the  feeling 
shall  be  enriched  by  organic  sensations,  set  up  in  the 
course  of  bodily  adjustment  to  the  incident.  The  emotion 
itself,  as  experienced,  consists  of  a strong  affection,  and 


§ 58.  The  Forms  of  Emotion 


221 


a simultaneous  association  of  ideas,  some  of  the  part- 
processes  in  which  are  always  organic  sensations. 

In  adult  life,  an  emotion  is  hardly  ever  found  ‘ pure  ’ ; con- 
sciousness is  too  complex,  and  the  habits  of  connection  formed 
by  the  part-processes  in  ideas  too  numerous.  Thus  the  ‘ angry 
consciousness  ’ described  in  § 4 contains  a good  deal  more  than 
the  pure  emotion  of  anger. — The  formation  of  an  emotion  occu- 
pies so  short  a time  that  it  is  impossible  to  experience  separately 
the  two  stages  depicted  in  the  text.  Feeling  and  bodily  adjust- 
ment come  together;  their  association  is  simultaneous.  Logi- 
cally, and  in  primitive  experience,  the  feeling  comes  first,  and 
the  adjustment  afterwards. 

The  feeling,  which  makes  up  the  body  of  the  emotion,  differs 
somewhat  in  composition,  according  as  it  is  pleasurable  or  un- 
pleasurable.  The  having  of  a pleasant  experience  means  that 
the  physical  conditions  are  favourable  to  the  arousal  of  a large 
number  of  ideas ; the  having  of  an  unpleasant  experience,  that 
they  are  unfavourable  (§  38).  Hence,  the  feeling  contained  in 
a pleasurable  emotion  is  extremely  rich  in  ideas,  while  that  con- 
tained in  an  unpleasurable  emotion  is  comparatively  poor.  In 
joy,  ideas  crowd  in  upon  us  ; our  thoughts  fly  hither  and  thither. 
In  sorrow,  we  brood  upon  one  narrow  set  of  ideas. 

The  importance  of  organic  sensations  as  factors  in  emotion  is 
shown  in  many  current  words  and  phrases  which  describe  the 
emotive  state.  We  are  ‘ oppressed  ’ by  care  ; we  ‘ cannot  bear  ’ 
certain  people ; we  are  ‘ cast  down  ’ by  bad  fortune  ; ‘ mortified  ’ 
(bruised  or  pounded)  or  £ exasperated  ’ (roughened)  by  a friend’s 
conduct,  etc.  ‘ Anger  ’ means  a choking  or  strangling,  — a group 
of  organic  sensations  which  we  now  attribute  rather  to  baffled  or 
impotent  anger  than  to  anger  itself.  ‘ Fear  ’ is  the  state  of  mind 
(and  body)  of  the  way farer;  etc. — Cf.  also  § 59. 

§ 58.  The  Forms  of  Emotion. — Just  as  there  are  two 
kinds  or  classes  of  feeling,  so  there  are  two  of  emotion : 
the  pleasurable  and  the  unpleasurable.  Within  each  kind 
or  class  there  are  a large  number  of  special  emotive  forms, 


222 


Feelmg  and  Emotion 


as  there  are  a large  number  of  special  ‘feelings.’  Can  we 
name  these  forms,  and  so  classify  emotions,  as  we  classi- 
fied sensations  and  ideas  ? Or  must  we  be  content  with 
the  general  distinction  of  the  two  classes,  as  we  were  com- 
pelled to  be  in  the  case  of  feeling  ? 

An  emotion  arises  when  a situation  or  predicament 
arises.  If,  then,  we  could  ascertain  the  typical  situations 
which  an  organism,  placed  in  the  world  of  nature,  must 
face,  — the  simplest  and  most  inevitable  situations  of  the 
physical  world,  — we  could  determine  the  fundamental 
emotions.  And  we  could  then  attempt  to  derive  the  other 
emotions  from  the  standard  emotions,  and  thus  obtain  a 
complete  table  of  emotive  forms. 

Although  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  this  prob- 
lem is  insoluble,  it  has  not  yet  been  solved.  Animal 
psychology  and  child  psychology,  the  biological  method 
and  the  method  of  introspection,  have  hitherto  failed  to 
give  us  an  answer  to  it.  All  that  can  be  done  at  present 
is  to  indicate  one  or  two  of  the  ways  in  which  classification 
has  been  tried,  with  more  or  less  of  success,  but  with  no 
final  result. 

( 1 ) Emotions  fall  into  two  great  groups,  as  emotions  of 
the  present  and  emotions  of  the  future.  Thus  hope  is  an 
emotion  of  the  future,  which  may  become  an  emotion  of 
the  present  in  the  form  of  satisfaction  (hope  fulfilled)  or 
disappointment  (hope  unfulfilled)  or  despair  (hope  de- 
ferred). Fear  is  an  emotion  of  the  future,  which  may 
become  an  emotion  of  the  present  either  as  alarm  (fear 
fulfilled)  or  relief  (fear  unfulfilled)  or  suspense  (fear 
deferred). 

(2)  Emotions  fall  into  two  great  groups,  as  subjective 
and  objective  emotions.  The  subjective  emotions  are 


§58.  The  Forms  of  Emotion 


223 


those  in  which  the  central  feeling  is  made  up  principally 
of  ideas  about  oneself ; the  objective  emotions  those  in 
which  the  central  feeling  is  made  up  principally  of  ideas 
derived  from  outside  objects  or  processes.  The  most  gen- 
eral forms  of  subjective  emotion  are  joy  and  sorrow;  the 
most  general  forms  of  objective  emotion,  like  and  dislike. 
The  objective  emotions  may  be  again  subdivided,  accord- 
ing as  the  object  is  a person  or  a thing.  The  most  gen- 
eral forms  of  objective  person-emotions  are  sympathy 
and  antipathy ; the  most  general  forms  of  objective  thing- 
emotions  are  attraction  and  repulsion.  Further,  many  of 
the  subjective  and  objective  emotions  occur  in  a more  sub- 
jective and  a more  objective  form.  Thus  sorrow,  a subjec- 
tive emotion,  has  a more  objective  form,  care,  and  a more 
subjective  form,  melancholy.  Antipathy,  an  objective 
emotion,  has  a more  objective  form,  hatred,  and  a more 
subjective  form,  exasperation. 

There  are  no  specific  ‘ emotions  of  the  past.’  A past  incident  may 
be  recalled  with  sufficient  vividness  and  accuracy  to  induce  an  emo- 
tion ; but  the  emotion  is  always  one  of  the  kind  described  under  ( 1 ). 

Nor  is  there  any  such  thing  as  an  ‘ emotion  of  indifference,’  since 
there  is  no  third  affective  quality,  ‘ indifference.’  But  just  as  a 
feeling  or  an  affectively  toned  idea  may  pass,  in  course  of  time, 
into  an  indifferent  idea,  — the  affection  ‘wearing  off’  with  custom, 
— so  a situation,  which  would  naturally  give  rise  to  an  emotion, 
may  leave  us  indifferent.  This  state  of  indifference  is  due  to  the 
frequent  repetition  of  a situation,  to  the  conquering  of  natural  by 
acquired  tendencies.  Every  ‘ dangerous  ’ profession  puts  its  fol- 
lowers in  situations  which  would  call  up  the  emotion  of  fear  in 
persons  unaccustomed  to  them  : no  one  could  do  off-hand  what  is 
constantly  done  by  miners,  sailors,  steeple-jacks,  etc.  And  a life 
of  perpetual  trouble  blunts  the  susceptibilities.  We  have  an  in- 
stance of  this  in  Tennyson’s  poem  of  ‘ The  Grandmother  ’ : — 

“ You  think  I am  hard  and  cold; 

But  all  my  children  have  gone  before  me,  I am  so  old : 

I cannot  weep  for  Willy,  nor  can  I weep  for  the  rest.”  — 


224 


Feeling  and  Emotion 


The  indifference  which  lies  midway  between  joy  and  sorrow  is 
called  composure  ; that  which  lies  between  like  and  dislike,  un- 
concern. Sympathy  and  antipathy  become  apathy ; attraction  and 
repulsion,  insensibility. 

§ 59.  The  Expression  of  the  Emotions. — By  the  ‘expres- 
sion ’ of  an  emotion  we  mean  the  bodily  effects  following 
from  the  change  in  the  nervous  system  which  is  the  physi- 
cal condition  of  the  emotion.  The  various  forms  of  emo- 
tive expression  may  be  classified  under  four  heads. 

(1)  Since  the  core  of  every  emotion  is  a vivid  feeling, 
we  shall  expect  to  find  in  emotion  all  the  bodily  manifesta- 
tions of  the  simple  affection.  We  find,  as  a matter  of  fact, 
that  every  emotion  brings  with  it  changes  in  pulse,  respi- 
ration, volume  and  muscular  strength. 

Method.  — Suppose  that  the  subject  is  in  position,  as  described 
in  § 33  (2).  After  a short  time  has  elapsed,  he  is  informed,  say, 
that  he  may  smoke.  The  pleasure  of  the  unexpected  news  shows 
itself  at  once  in  the  records  of  pulse,  breathing  and  volume ; and 
if  the  dynamometer  be  squeezed  while  the  cigar  is  being  cut  and 
lighted,  it  also  gives  evidence  of  the  affective  process.  After 
another  brief  interval,  the  cigar  is  flicked  out  of  the  subject’s  mouth 
by  the  assistant,  apparently  as  a practical  joke.  The  resultant  un- 
pleasantness is  clearly  marked  upon  the  instruments.  — The  mani- 
festations of  the  emotions  of  pleased  surprise  and  resentment  are 
here  identical  with  those  of  simple  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness. 

(2)  But  the  emotion  is  the  conscious  way  of  taking  not 
an  impression,  but  a situation,  a number  of  simultaneous 
impressions  ; and  the  situation  is  a far  more  serious  matter 
to  the  organism  than  the  separate  impression.  The  bodily 
changes  set  up  directly  by  the  change  in  the  nervous  sys- 
tem are  therefore  more  intensive  and  more  far-reaching 
than  those  just  mentioned : they  extend  beyond  heart, 


§ 59-  The  Expression  of  the  Emotions  225 

lungs  and  voluntary  muscle  to  the  secretory  organs  and 
the  other  involuntary  muscles.  Thus  in  fear  the  skin  is 
pale,  the  breathing  shallow  and  hurried,  the  pulse  weak 
and  irregular,  and  the  muscular  strength  diminished.  At 
the  same  time,  the  salivary  glands  cease  to  act,  so  that  the 
mouth  and  throat  become  dry ; the  body  is  bathed  in  a cold 
sweat ; the  bladder  and  intestine  are  affected  (tendency  to 
urination  and  diarrhoea) : while  there  is  a ‘ sinking  of  the 
stomach  ’ with  consequent  nausea,  a tremor  of  the  whole 
body  (shivering  and  goose-flesh),  and  an  erection  of  hair 
due  to  the  contraction  of  the  unstriped  muscles  lying  be- 
neath the  skin.  In  the  emotion  of  impotent  rage  there 
is  a sensation  of  choking,  and,  oftentimes,  a derangement 
of  the  liver.  In  grief  we  have  an  excessive  action  of  the 
lachrymal  glands.  These  bodily  symptoms  are  less  well 
marked  in  the  case  of  pleasurable  emotions ; though  we 
find  tears  shed  in  moments  of  great  joy,  and  a tendency  to 
urination  when  the  body  is  shaken  by  violent  laughter. 

We  cannot  say  anything  very  certainly  of  the  physiological 
mechanism  of  these  various  manifestations  of  emotion.  It  is  natu- 
ral that,  when  the  organism  is  affected  as  a whole,  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  organs  in  which  the  vital  functions  are  seated  should  show 
signs  of  the  shock.  But  this  ‘ naturalness  ’ does  not  account  for 
the  particular  symptoms  of  particular  emotions. 

(3)  The  organism  has  to  ‘ face  ’ the  situation,  by  way  of 
a bodily  attitiide.  The  reasons  for  the  special  forms  of 
this  attitude  must  be  sought  from  biology.  What  concerns 
us  here  is  the  fact  that  we  have  in  certain  emotive  expres- 
sions an  illustration  of  the  psychological  law  of  associa- 
tion. For  certain  biological  reasons,  the  frightened  animal 
crouches  down,  the  angry  animal  attacks  the  object  of  its 
anger,  the  startled  animal  leaps  away  from  the  unexpected 
Q 


226 


Feeling  and  Emotion 


impression.  In  civilised  life,  some  of  these  actions  have 
become  unnecessary,  and  others  are  partially  inhibited  by 
acquired  tendencies.  Nevertheless,  the  association  of  a 
definite  group  of  organic  sensations  to  the  feeling  which 
reflects  a definite  situation  tends  to  persist.  Although  we 
do  not  crouch  down,  as  if  actually  to  hide  ourselves  from  a 
stronger  opponent,  we  do  ‘ shrink  into  ourselves  ’ when  we 
are  expecting  censure  or  bad  news ; although  we  do  not 
attack  when  we  are  angry,  we  do  clench  the  fist  and  brace 
ourselves  as  if  in  preparation  to  attack ; and  although  we 
do  not  leap  away,  we  do  ‘jump  ’ or  start  when  we  are  sur- 
prised. In  the  wince  and  brace  and  start  we  have  sur- 
vivals of  the  primitive  bodily  adjustment  by  which  the 
organism  faced  three  typical  ‘ situations  ’ ; and  our  emotion 
is  not  complete  until  the  organic  sensations  aroused  by 
them  have  been  added  to  the  mass  of  ideas  contained  in 
the  central  feeling. 

(4)  When  we  speak,  in  ordinary  conversation,  of 
‘expression,’  we  mean  the  expression  of  the -face.  The 
muscles  of  the  face  are  arranged  round  three  very  im- 
portant sense-organs,  the  organs  of  vision,  smell  and  taste, 
and  their  adjustment  forms  a part  of  the  total  bodily 
adjustment  to  all  the  many  situations  which  appeal  to 
those  senses.  But  that  is  not  all.  It  is  a remarkable  fact 
that  the  facial  muscles  contribute  something  to  the  expres- 
sion of  emotions  in  which  they  are  not  directly  concerned. 
Thus  the  injured  man  ‘looks  bitter’;  i.e.,  looks  as  he  would 
look  were  an  unpleasantly  bitter  morsel  placed  upon  his 
tongue.  The  disappointed  man  ‘looks  sour’;  i.e.,  looks 
as  he  would  if  he  had  taken  a sharply  acid  substance  into 
his  mouth.  In  surprise,  the  eyebrows  are  raised,  as  if  to 
afford  a free  view  of  the  surprising  object ; and  so  on. 


§ 59-  The  Expression  of  the  Emotions  227 

In  attempting  to  explain  this  transference  of  expression, 
— the  association  of  what  were  originally  reflex  move- 
ments, made  in  response  to  definite  sense  stimuli,  bitter, 
sour,  etc.,  to  an  emotion  which  does  not  include  the  sensa- 
tions set  up  by  those  stimuli,  — we  must  remember  two 
things  : that  gesture  was  far  more  essential  for  the  com- 
munication of  ideas  among  primitive  men  than  it  is  now, 
and  that  the  primitive  vocabulary  was  limited.  To  convince 
ourselves  of  the  latter  fact  we  have  only  to  look  at  the 
derivation  of  abstract  words : we  find  constantly  that  they 
contain  a metaphor,  i.e.,  that  they  originally  designated 
something  concrete.  Thus  black  is  ‘that  which  is  scorched  ’ ; 
an  animal  is  ‘ that  which  breathes  ’ ; to  explain  is  to  ‘ spread 
out’  or ‘level.’  This  means  that  complex  states  of  mind, 
such  as  emotion,  would  be  spoken  of,  at  first,  in  a meta- 
phorical or  partial  way,  and  that  the  spoken  word  would 
be  eked  out  by  gesture.  The  metaphors  employed  would 
be  taken  from  the  familiar  incidents  of  everyday  life. 
The  primitive  hunter  ‘ tasted  ’ success,  in  a very  real  way. 
The  unsuccessful  ‘tasted’  life  also,  and  found  it  bitter  or 
sour.  The  mouth  of  a maiden  is  ‘sweet’;  ‘honey  and 
milk  are  under  her  tongue.’  The  unpopular  man  ‘stinks 
in  the  nostrils’  of  his  tribesmen.  We  cannot  ‘see’  the 
point  of  a remark,  or  the  reason  for  an  action. 

Whenever  one  of  these  metaphors  came  to  mind,  and 
still  more  certainly,  whenever  one  of  them  came  to  the 
lips,  the  reflex  expressive  movements  of  the  facial  muscles 
would  be  set  up.  Certain  part-processes  in  the  central 
feeling  suggest  the  metaphor ; the  metaphor  brings  the 
bitter  or  sweet  or  surprised  ‘ look  ’ with  it ; and  the  ‘ look  ’ 
persists  as  a constituent  in  the  total  emotive  expression, 
because  of  its  original  utility  for  the  communication  of 


228  Feeling  and  Emotion 

ideas,  and  the  consequent  stability  of  its  connection  with 
the  feeling. 

Laughter.  — Laughter  consists  of  a certain  play  of  feature,  and 
of  a series  of  long  inspirations,  each  of  which  is  followed  by  a 
number  of  abrupt  expirations.  It  occurs  under  the  most  various 
conditions.  We  speak  of  it  as  sardonic,  contemptuous,  derisive, 
sympathetic,  hysterical,  joyous,  etc. ; it  expresses  the  sentiment 
of  power;  and  it  follows  tickling  and  certain  acute  pains.  No 
explanation  which  has  as  yet  been  offered  is  entirely  satisfac- 
tory. 

(1)  Some  authorities  regard  the  laughter  which  follows  tickling 
as  typical  laughter.  Tickling  consists  of  intermittent  light  press- 
ures. Each  pressure,  it  is  said,  sets  up  a reflex  constriction  of 
the  small  arterial  blood-vessels  of  the  body.  When  the  arteries 
are  constricted,  the  amount  of  blood  pumped  through  them  by 
the  action  of  the  heart  is,  of  course,  diminished.  There  is  a close 
connection  between  the  nerves  governing  the  blood-vessels  and 
the  nervous  centre  which  regulates  breathing.  Hence  the  inter- 
mittent arterial  constriction  is  paralleled  by  an  intermittent  ex- 
piration. This  latter  serves  a useful  purpose,  since  it  prevents 
the  outflow  of  blood  from  the  brain.  The  brain  arteries  are  con- 
stricted, along  with  the  rest ; less  blood  gets  to  the  brain  ; the 
movements  of  laughter  prevent  this  blood  from  escaping  too 
quickly. 

(2)  Other  psychologists  look  upon  laughter  as  intrinsically  an 
expression  of  joy.  When  we  are  pleased,  all  the  bodily  activities 
are  heightened,  and  a safety-valve  is  required.  We  ‘ let  off  steam  ’ 
by  laughing.  The  muscles  of  face  and  respiration  are  employed 
to  let  off  the  surplus  energy  of  the  body  because  they  are  con- 
stantly in  use  ; the  energy  runs  off  most  easily  by  way  of  them. 

On  either  of  these  explanations,  laughter  would  fall  under  our 
second  principle.  It  would  be  the  direct  result  of  a change  in 
the  nervous  system.  The  suggestion  has  been  made,  however, 
that  the  play  of  feature  in  laughter,  the  opening  of  the  mouth  and 
nostrils,  may  be  the  (3)  expression  of  a desire  to  ‘take  in  ’ the  whole 
of  the  pleasant  experience.  We  ‘ take  in  ’ a comic  situation,  just 


§ 59-  The  Expression  of  the  Emotions  229 

as  we  take  in  a pleasant  morsel  of  food  or  a pleasant  odour.  On 
this  side,  then,  laughter  would  fall  under  our  fourth  principle. 

Summarising  this  Section,  we  may  say  that  the  expres- 
sions of  emotion  include  (1)  the  manifestations  of  simple 
affection ; (2)  an  extension  of  these  manifestations  to  the 
secretory  organs  and  the  whole  system  of  involuntary 
muscles;  (3)  relics  of  actions,  once  performed  in  obedience 
to  biological  necessities ; and  (4)  reflex  movements  which 
were  primarily  executed  in  response  to  certain  sensory 
stimuli,  and  have  now  become  associated  to  emotions  along 
with  the  sensations  set  up  by  those  stimuli.  The  second 
of  these  expressions  shows  the  serious  nature  of  the  situ- 
ation to  be  faced;  the  last  two  make  up  the  bodily  adjust- 
ment spoken  of  in  § 57. 

Those  who  believe  that  feelings  are  simple  mental  processes, 
and  that  they  present  a large  number  of  qualitative  differences 
(§  56),  would  explain  the  fourth  factor  in  emotive  expression  a 
little  differently.  The  emotion  of  care,  they  would  say,  is  like  the 
‘ feeling  of  oppression  ’ ; the  emotion  of  disappointment  is  like  the 
‘sour  feeling’  due  to  an  acid  taste.  And  there  is  a law  of  the  asso- 
ciation of  feelings  : Like  feelings  tend  to  associate. 

We  have  found  good  reason  to  believe,  however,  that  the  feeling 
is  a compound  process,  and  that  there  are  but  two  affective  qual- 
ities, neither  of  which  can  stand  alone  in  consciousness.  We  have 
further  found  that  the  compound  processes  which  we  call  ‘ ideas  ’ 
do  not  associate  as  wholes  : association  ‘ by  similarity  ’ is  a form, 
not  a law,  of  association.  We  shall  not  expect  to  have  any  such 
law  of  association,  then,  in  the  sphere  of  feeling. 

As  a matter  of  fact,  we  do  not  find  affection  serving  as  the 
associative  link  between  two  complex  processes.  There  is  no 
reason  why  a particular  pleasant  experience  should  call  up  another 
particular  pleasant  experience  : the  pleasantness  is  too  general, 
too  evanescent,  and  too  much  dependent  upon  its  sensory  con- 
comitants. The  pleasant  warmth  of  my  room  does  not  call  up 


230 


Feeling  and  Emotion 


the  pleasant  breakfast  that  I ate  an  hour  ago.  If  it  calls  up  any- 
thing, it  does  so  because  it  is  pleasant  warmth;  thus  it  may  call 
up  the  pleasant  lunch  that  I ate  at  a German  inn  after  a cold 
tramp,  because  one  of  the  factors  in  the  lunch-memory  is  the 
warmth  of  the  inn-parlour.  The  associative  link  must  be  looked 
for  always  on  the  sensation  side  of  the  feeling ; and  the  association 
must  fall  under  the  formula  ab-bc. 

Although  the  description  and  observation  of  emotive  expres- 
sions do  not  require  the  use  of  introspection,  i.e.,  do  not  constitute 
a psychological  problem,  the  facts  themselves  are  too  useful  to  the 
psychologist  to  be  neglected.  It  is  not  only  that  ( i ) the  composition 
of  the  emotion,  as  stated  in  the  text,  furnishes  illustrations  of  the 
association  of  ideas.  The  observation  of  the  various  forms  of 
expression  is  of  psychological  value  (2)  in  that  it  helps  us  to 
analyse  and  reconstruct  a particular  emotion ; we  know  what  sort 
of  organic  sensations  to  look  for  and  take  account  of.  In  certain 
cases,  these  sensations  determine  the  affective  quality  of  the  whole 
emotion ; their  intensity  may,  e.g.,  render  an  extreme  joy  unpleas- 
ant. And  it  is  of  further  value  (3)  in  that  it  enables  us  to  un- 
derstand how  the  idea  of  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness,  which  is 
implied  in  every  case  of  affective  introspection  (§  33),  takes 
shape.  The  idea  of  affection  may  be  a mass  of  organic  sensations, 
which  have  ‘ expressed  ’ a certain  emotion ; or  the  visual  picture 
of  oneself  under  the  influence  of  emotion  ; or  a word  which  con- 
tains a metaphor  borrowed  from  sense  (my  idea  of  the  unpleas- 
antness of  a colour  may  be  that  it  was  a ‘ hard  ’ or  ‘ cold  ’ colour, 
etc.);  or,  finally,  the  word  ‘pleasantness’  or  ‘unpleasantness’ 
itself,  — the  word  having  been  in  the  first  place  attached  to  some 
one  of  the  foregoing  ideas,  as  an  associative  supplement,  but  now 
detached  from  its  associations  (e/.  the  verbal  local  sign  : § 44). 

§ 60.  Mood,  Passion  and  Temperament.  — An  emotion, 
regarded  as  a single  total  process,  has  three  attributes : 
quality  (pleasantness  or  unpleasantness),  intensity  and 
duration. 

Nothing  very  definite  can  be  said  either  of  the  intensity 


§ 6o.  Mood,  P ass i on  and  Temperament  231 

or  of  the  duration  of  emotion.  It  may  be  laid  down,  as  a 
general  rule,  that  the  most  intensive  emotions  have  the 
shortest  duration,  and  the  weakest  emotions  the  longest. 
The  rule  follows  naturally  from  the  nature  of  emotions. 
A severe  shock  to  the'  nervous  system,  such  as  is  implied 
in  an  intense  affection,  must  exhaust  the  organism  more 
quickly  than  a slight  shock  : the  violent  emotion,  if  pleas- 
urable, soon  gives  way  to  a general  lassitude  and  indiffer- 
ence ; if  unpleasurable,  is  ended  by  a swoon  or  faint. 

The  weaker  emotive  states,  which  persist  for  some  time 
together,  are  termed  moods ; the  stronger,  which  exhaust 
the  organism  in  a comparatively  short  time,  are  called 
passions.  Thus  the  mood  of  cheerfulness  represents  the 
emotion  of  joy;  the  mood  of  depression,  that  of  sorrow. 
Like  and  dislike  have  the  moods  of  content  and  discon- 
tent ; sympathy  and  antipathy,  those  of  kindliness  and 
sulkiness ; attraction  and  repulsion,  those  of  ‘ charm  ’ and 
tedium.  The  mood  of  care  is  anxiety ; the  mood  of 
melancholy,  gloom.  The  mood  of  hatred  is  ‘ not  getting 
on  with  ’ a person ; the  mood  of  exasperation  is  chagrin. 
On  the  other  hand,  rage  or  fury  is  a passion,  anger  an 
emotion;  and  we  speak  of  a ‘passionate  grief,’  a ‘passion- 
ate love,’  a ‘passion  of  terror,’  etc.,  when  we  wish  to  indi- 
cate a high  degree  of  emotive  intensity. 

Regarded  from  the  affective  standpoint,  mood  evidently  bears 
the  same  relation  to  emotion  that  the  affectively  toned  idea  bears 
to  the  feeling.  The  word  ‘ passion  ’ is  used,  loosely,  to  express  a 
very  intense  feeling,  as  well  as  a very  intense  emotion.  We  say 
that  a man  ‘ has  a passion  ’ for  collecting  butterflies,  meaning  that 
the  butterfly-idea  calls  up  in  him  a very  strong  feeling. 

Language  rarely,  if  ever,  distinguishes  more  than  two 
degrees  of  emotion  proper,  between  the  slight  affective 


232 


Feeling  and  Emotion 


intensity  of  the  mood  and  the  strong  affection  of  the 
passion.  Thus  we  have  the  series : irritability  (mood), 
aversion  (weak  emotion),  anger  (strong  emotion),  rage 
(passion);  or  chagrin  (mood),  mortification  (weak  emo- 
tion), resentment  (strong  emotion),  exasperation  (passion); 
or  kindliness  (mood),  friendliness  (weak  emotion),  ‘affec- 
tion,’ in  the  sense  of  ‘ liking  ’ (strong  emotion),  love 
(passion);  or  wonder  (mood),  surprise  (weak  emotion), 
astonishment  (strong  emotion),  amazement  (passion). 

No  sharp  line  of  distinction,  either  intensive  or  temporal, 
can  be  drawn  between  these  various  processes.  We  can- 
not say  that  a mood  lasts  for  a week,  and  an  emotion  for 
a day ; or  that  a passion  exhausts  us  in  five  minutes,  and 
an  emotion  in  five  hours. 

One  of  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a classification  of  the  emo- 
tions has  been  brought  out,  in  all  probability,  by  the  instances 
just  cited.  The  reader  has  probably  said  to  himself : ‘ I should 
not  put  that  emotion  there!'  This  difficulty  is  inherent  in  the 
nature  of  language,  which,  as  we  have  seen  (§  33),  has  been 
developed  as  a medium  for  the  communication  of  ideas,  not  of 
feelings  or  emotions.  The  words  which  denote  emotions  are 
neither  sufficiently  numerous  nor  sufficiently  delicate  for  psycho- 
logical purposes  : they  are  rough,  general  names,  carrying  different 
side-meanings  to  different  minds. 

Hence  it  is  not  likely  that  any  two  psychologists  would  make 
up  series,  of  the  kind  just  given,  in  precisely  the  same  terms. 
The  emotions  of  each  series  differ  in  more  than  the  single  aspect 
of  intensity.  When  we  ask  ourselves  whether  anger,  e.g.,  is  really 
nothing  more  than  a stronger  aversion,  or  lofe  nothing  more  than 
a stronger  affection,  we  are  obliged  to  confess  that  there  are  other 
differences.  The  central  feelings  differ  not  only  in  degree  of  affec- 
tion, but  in  composition,  in  the  number  and  nature  of  their  com- 
ponent sensations. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  language  has  but  few  words  to  express 


§ 6o.  Mood,  Passion  and  Temperament  233 

pleasurable  emotions.  We  can  be  annoyed,  vexed,  irritated,  dis- 
turbed, ruffled,  chagrined,  bothered,  etc.,  on  the  unpleasant  side ; 
on  the  pleasant,  we  have  only  the  general  terms  satisfaction  and 
contentment,  the  pleasure  of  ‘ things  running  smoothly.’  This 
accords  with  the  fact  that  the  direct  bodily  manifestations  of 
unpleasant  emotions  are  more  extensive  and  more  varied  than 
those  of  the  pleasurable  states  (§59).  It  places  a further  diffi- 
culty in  the  way  of  classification. 

The  mood  stands  upon  the  same  level  of  mental  devel- 
opment as  the  train  of  ideas.  Just  as  the  train  of  ideas 
is  determined  by  intellectual  constitution,  following  always 
the  line  of  least  associative  resistance,  so  is  mood  deter- 
mined by  affective  constitution,  or,  as  it  is  more  usually 
called,  temperament.  It  is  customary  to  distinguish  four 
temperaments : the  choleric,  sanguine,  phlegmatic  and 
melancholic.  The  man  who  thinks  quickly  and  feels 
strongly  is  choleric ; the  man  who  thinks  quickly  and 
feels  weakly,  sanguine.  The  phlegmatic  thinks  slowly 
and  feels  weakly ; the  melancholic  thinks  slowly  and  feels 
deeply. 

These  affective  temperaments  stand  upon  the  same  level  as  the 
three  ‘ intellectual  temperaments  ’ of  § 54  : the  co-ordinating,  sub- 
ordinating and  superordinating  dispositions. 

In  real  life,  we  rarely  come  across  ‘ pure  ’ temperaments  ; human 
nature  is  too  complex  to  be  run  into  a single  mould.  Literature, 
however,  furnishes  us  with  typical  instances  of  the  four  tempera- 
ments. Thus  Hamlet  and  Laertes  are  respectively  melancholic 
and  choleric  ; Falstaff  and  the  younger  Percy,  in  the  first  part  of 
King  Henry  IV.,  respectively  sanguine  and  choleric ; while  the 
scenes  between  Touchstone  and  Audrey  in  As  yon  like  it,  bring 
the  sanguine  and  phlegmatic  temperaments  into  sharp  contrast. 


CHAPTER  X 


Voluntary  Movement.  The  Analysis  of  Action 

§ 6i.  The  Nature  of  Action.  — Every  animal  organism 
is  a motor  organism.  The  animal  is  constantly  moving, 
either  moving  from  place  to  place  or  changing  its  attitude, 
i.e.,  the  relative  positions  of  limbs  and  trunk.  We  have 
already  had  indications  of  the  importance  of  movement  in 
psychology  (Chs.  VI,  VII,  IX);  and  we  must  now  sup- 
plement what  we  have  said  of  it  in  previous  chapters,  in 
order  to  set  this  importance  in  a clearer  light. 

Animal  movements  are  of  two  kinds : voluntary  and 
involuntary.  Psychology  has  to  take  account  of  both, 
though  in  different  ways.  Voluntary  movement  presents 
two  points  of  interest  to  psychology:  it  has  conscious 
antecedents,  — - conscious  conditions,  — and  it  gives  rise  to 
conscious  processes  during  its  performance.  Involuntary 
movement,  on  the  other  hand,  has  no  conscious  antece- 
dents; we  have  to  consider  it  only  in  so  far  as  its  per- 
formance involves  the  arousal  of  conscious  processes, 
organic  sensations. 

The  name  of  involuntary  movements  is  given  to  the 
purely  mechanical  movements  of  heart,  lungs,  vessels, 
intestines,  etc.  These  movements  go  on  whether  we  are 
conscious  or  hot;  they  continue  in  the  deepest  sleep,  in 
the  hypnotic  trance,  and  in  the  most  profound  swoon,  as 
steadily  as  in  the  waking  life.  Their  conditions  are 


234 


§ 6 1 . The  Nature  of  Action 


235 


entirely  physiological ; we  have  the  power  to  vary  some 
of  them  (we  can  breathe  quickly,  e.g.\  but  we  cannot 
arrest  them,  and  start  them  again,  at  pleasure.  As  a rule, 
they  pass  wholly  unnoticed.  But  if  they  reach  a certain 
degree  of  intensity,  they  give  rise  to  organic  sensations, 
cardiac,  respiratory,  circulatory,  etc.,  and  to  the  common 
sensation  of  pain.  It  is  only  under  these  circumstances, 
as  the  stimuli  to  organic  or  common  sensations,  that 
involuntary  movements  fall  within  the  range  of  psycho- 
logical survey.  We  need  devote  no  space  to  them  in 
the  present  chapter,  as  we  have  discussed  their  effects 
in  dealing  with  emotive  expression  (§  59). 

All  the  other  movements  of  the  organism  are  comprised 
under  the  term  voluntary  movements.  These  do  not  occur 
except  under  definite  psychological  conditions,  the  chief 
of  which  is  attention.  As  they  occur,  they  give  rise,  like 
the  involuntary  movements,  to  organic  or  common  sensa- 
tions, which  in  some  instances  pass  unheeded,  but  in 
others  are  remarked,  and  turned  to  account  by  the 
organism  for  the  acquiring  of  knowledge  of  the  outside 
world.  Our  psychological  analysis,  therefore,  must  take 
account  of  both  these  sets  of  processes:  the  mental  con 
ditions  and  the  mental  concomitants  of  voluntary  move- 
ment. 

It  must  be  clearly  understood  that  there  is  no  conscious  pro- 
cess corresponding  to  the  release  of  a voluntary  movement,  to 
movfyy.  We  have  first  a complex  of  processes  in  consciousness, 
and  a certain  state  of  things  in  the  brain  cortex ; then  we  move  ; 
then  we  have  certain  organic  sensations  in  consciousness,  and 
another  state  of  the  brain  cortex.  The  middle  term  of  the  series, 
the  moving,  does  not  come  into  consciousness. 

The  point  will  be  made  clearer  if  we  draw  a parallel,  in  general 


236  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 


terms,  between  the  physiology  and  the  psychology  of  voluntary 
movement.  On  the  physiological  side,  an  impression  is  made 
upon  a sense-organ  : a nervous  excitation  travels  to  the  corre- 
sponding sensory  area  of  the  cortex,  and  (1)  explodes  a sensory 
cell  there.  The  explosion  is  reinforced  by  energy  from  the  frontal 
lobes,  and  in  virtue  of  this  reinforcement  has  an  effect  upon  the 
whole  nervous  system.  More  than  this  : the  explosion  is  com- 
municated to  a motor  cell,  and  so  sets  up  an  excitation  in  a motor 
nerve  ; a motor  excitation  travels  outward  to  a muscle,  and  (2)  a 
muscular  contraction,  a moving,  results.  The  contraction  of  the 
muscle  stimulates  the  sensory  nerve-endings  contained  within  its 
substance  and  within  the  tendons  attached  to  it,  as  well  as  those 
upon  certain  articular  surfaces ; another  sensory  excitation  travels 
to  the  brain,  and  (3)  the  explosion  of  other  sensory  cells,  in  a 
different  cortical  area,  follows.  On  the  psychological  side  we  have 
(1)  a sensation  (explosion  of  sensory  cell),  which  is  attended  to 
(reinforcement  from  the  frontal  lobes)  and  felt  to  be  pleasant  or 
unpleasant  (effect  upon  the  whole  nervous  system),  and  (2)  or- 
ganic sensations,  due  to  muscular  contraction.  There  is,  however, 
no  conscious  process  corresponding  to  the  motor  excitation,  no 
sensation  set  up  by  the  explosion  of  the  motor  cell.  It  is  not 
until  the  second  group  of  sensory  cells  is  exploded  that  we  have  a 
second  conscious  process. 

Method.  — The  following  experiment  shows  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a motor-cell  sensation,  a sensation  corresponding 
to  the  innervation  of  a muscle  or  group  of  muscles.  Cut  a cir- 
cular piece  of  hard  wood,  one  inch  in  thickness,  to  the  weight  of 
50  gr.  Cut  another  disc,  of  one-third  the  diameter  of  the  first, 
from  the  same  wood  ; hollow  it,  and  prepare  a cap  of  wood  to  fit 
the  top  of  the  hole.  Put  enough  shot  in  the  follow  to  bring  the 
total  weight  up  to  50  gr.,  packing  the  shot  with  cotton-wool,  so 
that  it  does  not  rattle.  The  two  weights  now  appear  to  be  both 
alike  of  wood.  Let  the  subject  lay  his  arm  upon  a low  table,  palm 
upwards.  Place  first  the  large  and  then  the  small  weight  in  his 
palm,  and  let  him  lift  them,  moving  his  arm  from  the  elbow.  If 
he  has  not  been  informed  that  the  pieces  are  of  the  same  weight, 
he  will  say  that  the  smaller  is  markedly  heavier  than  the  larger. 


§ 6 1.  The  Nature  of  Action 


237 


This  judgment,  however,  might  be  made,  even  supposing  that 
there  were  an  innervation  sense.  The  subject  thought  that  the 
two  weights  were  of  the  same  material,  and  therefore  expected 
that  the  larger  would  be  the  heavier.  In  his  surprise  at  the  heavi- 
ness of  the  smaller  piece,  he  thinks  that  it  is  heavier  than  the 
other,  although  the  two  are  really  of  the  same  weight. 

Now  repeat  the  experiment,  after  telling  him  that  the  two  are 
equal,  and  showing  him  that  the  balance  makes  each  of  them 
weigh  50  gr.  He  will  still  find  the  smaller  piece  the  heavier.  If 
he  were  judging  by  the  help  of  a motor  sensation,  this  illusion 
would  now  be  impossible ; for,  knowing  that  the  same  amount 
of  energy  would  be  required  to  lift  both  weights,  he  would  inner- 
vate his  muscles  to  the  same  extent,  i.e.,  have  precisely  the  same 
innervation  sensation.  The  illusion  must  be  due  to  ingoing,  not 
to  outcoming,  sensations,  and  is,  in  fact,  to  be  explained  by 
the  circumstance  that  the  larger  piece  stimulates  a large  number 
of  cutaneous  sensory  nerve-endings  slightly,  while  the  smaller 
stimulates  a few  intensively.1 

The  problem  which  voluntary  movement  sets  to  psychol- 
ogy is  the  analysis  of  action.  The  word  ‘action’  denotes 
both  the  mental  condition  and  the  mental  concomitants  of 
movement.  It  is  usually  qualified  by  an  adjective,  which 
indicates  the  nature  of  the  condition.  Thus  the  phrase 
‘ impulsive  action  ’ covers  both  the  impulse  and  the  impul- 
sive movement,  with  the  sensations  which  it  occasions,  — 
both  the  mental  condition  and  the  mental  concomitants  of 
a certain  change  of  bodily  position ; the  phrase  ‘ selective 
action  ’ covers  both  the  process  of  choice  and  the  sensa- 
tions set  up  by  the  movement  which  follows  it ; the  phrase 

1 The  question  whether  there  is  a sensation  accompanying  the  touch-off  of 
a movement  must  not  be  confused  with  the  question  whether  a conscious  pro- 
cess accompanies  the  touch-off  of  a tendency  (§  36).  The  former  asks: 
Does  the  explosion  of  a motor  cell  give  rise  to  sensation,  as  the  explosion  of 
a sensory  cell  does?  The  latter:  Is  there  any  conscious  process  attending 
the  rush  of  an  idea  into  the  channel  which  tendency  has  dug  for  it? 


238  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 

‘instinctive  action’  covers  both  the  instinct, — the  men- 
tal condition,  — and  the  sensations  aroused  by  the  instinc- 
tive movement. 

‘ Movement  ’ is,  therefore,  a more  general  word  than  ‘ action.’ 
All  actions  are,  in  part,  movements ; but  only  those  movements 
which  have  conscious  processes  as  their  conditions,  and  other 
conscious  processes  as  their  concomitants,  can  form  part  of 
actions.  In  ordinary  conversation  we  extend  the  meaning  of  the 
term  ‘ action  ’ until  it  is  almost  identical  with  that  of  movement : 
we  say,  e.g.,  that  a machine  1 acts  ’ in  this  way  or  that.  But  we 
have  already  had  occasion  to  notice  the  fact  that  the  scientific 
meaning  of  words  may  differ  considerably  from  their  popular 
meaning  (§  2). 

§ 62.  The  Beginning's  of  Voluntary  Action.  — There  is 
no  type  of  voluntary  action,  occurring  in  concrete  experi- 
ence, which  can  be  regarded  as  the  simplest  form  of 
voluntary  action  in  general,  the  form  out  of  which  all 
the  more  complex  types  have  grown.  This  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at ; for  we  could  no  more  expect  to  find  such  a 
rudimentary  action  within  the  circle  of  processes  compos- 
ing the  adult  consciousness  than  we  could  to  find  bare 
sensations  not  yet  combined  into  ideas.  All  the  sensa- 
tions which  we  experience  are  elements  in  ideas,  i.e., 
sensations  which  bring  with  them  habits  of  connection 
with  other  sensations,  and  all  the  actions  which  we  experi- 
ence are  actions  whose  conscious  conditions  include  the 
memory  of  past  actions.  Now  it  is  plain  that  the  earliest 
sensation  could  not  have  had  a habit  of  connection,  since 
there  was  nothing  for  it  to  connect  with.  Hence  we  are 
justified  in  assuming  the  existence  of  the  bare  sensation, 
and  in  inferring  its  attributes  from  the  attributes  of  the 
sensations  which  we  know.  And  it  is  plain  that  there 


§ 62.  The  Beginnings  of  Voluntary  Action  239 

must  have  been  action,  before  the  memory  of  past  move- 
ments had  been  acquired.  Hence  we  are  justified  in 
assuming  the  existence  of  an  original  type  of  action, — 
a type  which  represents  an  earlier  stage  of  organic  devel- 
opment than  any  which  is  now  represented  in  our  own 
consciousness,  — and  in  inferring  its  nature  from  the 
nature  of  the  actions  which  are  known  to  us. 

So  far  as  we  can  tell,  the  single  condition  of  voluntary 
action  in  the  primitive  consciousness  was  attention } 
Some  object  or  process  in  the  outside  world  caught  the 
attention  of  the  organism.  This  attention  meant  move- 
ment of  the  whole  organism  to  or  from  the  object: 
towards  it,  if  its  idea  was  pleasurable,  away  from  it,  if 
its  idea  was  unpleasurable.  The  movement  must  be 
supposed  to  have  taken  place  whether  the  object  was 
attainable  or  not. 

Action  of  this  rudimentary  kind  may  be  termed  action 
upon  presentation.  A stimulus  was  presented  ; it  attracted 
the  attention  ; movement  followed.  The  animal  had  never 
formed  any  idea  of  its  own  movement,  because  it  had 
never  moved  voluntarily  before  ; it  did  not  know  what 
sort  of  mental  processes  would  be  set  up  by  movement ; it 
did  not  know  that  it  was  going  to  move.  But  so  soon 
as  the  excitation  corresponding  to  the  idea  of  the  stimulus 
had  been  reinforced  by  other  excitatory  processes,  — so 
soon  as  the  stimulus  was  attended  to,  — motor  excitation 
was  set  up,  and  a movement  made.  — In  action  upon 


1 One  might  be  inclined  to  think  that  there  would  be  another  condition, 
— the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  of  the  object.  But  for  the  primitive 
organism,  attention  to  anything  but  the  intrinsically  pleasant  or  unpleasant  is 
impossible : attention  and  affection  are  always  obverse  and  reverse  of  the 
same  process  (§  38). 


240  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 


presentation  we  have  the  germ  of  all  the  types  of  action 
found  in  concrete  experience. 

We  can  never  be  sure  that  any  animal  movement,  however 
rudimentary  the  organism,  is  a pure  action  upon  presentation. 
It  is  possible  that  we  have  an  instance  of  such  action  in  the 
movements  of  the  simplest  unicellular  organisms,  e.g.,  the  amoeba, 
toward  a fragment  of  food-stuff  or  away  from  a drop  of  acid. 
The  object,  if  edible,  gives  rise  to  a vague  idea,  vaguely  pleas- 
urable. The  rudimentary  attention  involved  is  the  psychological 
condition  of  a movement  of  the  total  organism  : the  amoeba  flows 
towards  the  fragment,  pours  itself  out,  so  to  speak,  in  this  or  that 
direction.  If  the  object  is  deleterious,  there  is  a reverse  move- 
ment, a shrinking  back  of  the  whole  mass  of  protoplasm. 

§63.  The  Nature  of  Impulsive  Action. — We  have  as- 
sumed that  action  began  as  action  upon  presentation. 
Whenever  we  look  introspectively  at  an  action  of  our 
own,  however,  — whenever  we  try  to  analyse  a concrete 
action-consciousness,  — we  find  no  trace  of  anything  ex- 
cept actioii  upon  representation.  The  actions  which  we 
ourselves  perform  involve  the  idea  of  past  movement, 
a conscious  re-presentation  of  some  movement  previously 
performed.  The  simplest  form  of  action  upon  representa- 
tion is  impulsive  action.  A large  proportion  of  the  actions 
of  animals  which  stand  low  in  the  scale  of  development 
are,  so  far  as  we  can  interpret  them,  impulsive  actions. 
And  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  actions  of  this  type  form 
a part  of  the  sum  of  movements  executed  by  the  higher 
animals  and  by  man. 

Suppose  that  I am  hungry,  and  see  a supply  of  food. 
The  idea  of  the  food  possesses  me,  holds  my  attention. 
At  the  same  time  that  I have  this  idea,  I have  the  further 
ideas  of  a movement  towards  the  food  and  of  its  seizure. 


§ 63.  The  Nature  of  Impulsive  Action  241 

That  is  to  say,  the  sight  of  the  food  brings  up  in  my  mind 
memories  of  all  the  organic  and  other  sensations  which 
would  be  aroused  by  a real  movement  towards  the  food. 
The  attention  is  now  directed,  not  upon  the  idea  of  the 
food,  but  upon  the  idea  of  the  food  plus  the  idea  of  my 
own  movement.  Attention  to  this  pleasurably  toned  com- 
pound idea  is  the  psychological  condition  of  actual  move- 
ment : my  hand  goes  out  towards  the  plate,  and  the 
sensations  which  I had  imagined  are  realised.  I have 
the  experience  of  a simple  impulsive  action. 

There  is  a great  difference  between  this  action  and 
action  upon  presentation.  I do  not  merely  attend  to  the 
food,  and  take  it ; I attend  to  the  food  and  to  an  idea  of 
my  movement  towards  it,  — and  then  take  it.  The  impul- 
sive action  presupposes  the  representation  in  conscious- 
ness of  a movement  formerly  made. 

But  although  in  psychological  analysis  the  difference 
between  the  two  actions  is  so  great,  for  all  practical 
purposes  it  may  be  very  small.  Granted  that  I have  an 
idea  of  previous  bodily  movement,  I am  not  necessarily 
much  better  off  than  I was  before.  The  movement  which 
I remember  may  be  exceedingly  roundabout,  or  may  be 
far  more  violent  and  exhausting  than  the  present  occasion 
demands.  The  mere  idea  of  a movement  is  not  enough : 
what  I need  is  the  idea  of  the  right  movement,  i.e.,  of  the 
movement  which  will  take  me  most  quickly  and  by  the 
most  direct  road  to  the  food  which  I see.  It  is  only  when 
the  right  movement  comes  to  mind  at  sight  of  the  food 
that  the  impulse  has  reached  its  full  development.  How 
does  this  development  proceed  ? 

The  idea  of  movement  which  comes  up  when  I see  the 
food  arises  by  way  of  simultaneous  association.  Food- 

R 


242  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 

idea  and  the  sensations  aroused  by  forward  bodily  move- 
ment have  been  associated  in  past  experience : therefore 
when  the  food-idea  appears,  the  sensations  aroused  by 
movement  tend  to  appear  with  it.  The  question  how  the 
impulsive  action  developes,  then,  resolves  itself  into  the 
question : How  is  it  that  the  idea  of  the  right  movement 
comes  to  be  associated,  more  firmly  than  all  other  possible 
ideas  of  movement,  to  the  food-idea  ? 

The  answer  is,  in  brief,  that  the  performance  of  the 
right  movement  makes  the  whole  experience  more  pleas- 
ant than  the  performance  of  any  other  movement  could 
do.  We  have  seen  that  the  pleasantness  of  an  event,  i.e., 
its  hold  over  the  attention,  gives  its  idea  a power  of  con- 
nection, a grip  upon  other  ideas,  which  it  would  not  have 
in  its  own  right  (§  55).  Hence  the  movement  which 
brings  pleasure  in  the  greatest  degree  will  be  more  firmly 
cemented  to  the  food-idea  than  will  another  movement, 
which  brings  pleasure  in  a less  degree. 

How  is  the  pleasantness  produced  ? Why  is  it  that 
the  right  movement  brings  more  pleasure  than  any  other 
could  ? In  the  first  place,  the  idea  of  the  food  is  pleas- 
ant ; attention  to  it  means  a forward,  not  backward,  move- 
ment. In  the  second  place,  this  movement  is  a means  to 
an  end,  not  itself  an  end.  Hence  the  most  pleasant  idea 
of  movement  will  be  the  idea  of  a quick  and  straight 
movement,  a movement  which  does  not  involve  delay  or 
too  great  effort.  And  in  the  third  place,  the  idea  of  the 
result  of  the  movement,  the  idea  of  an  immediate  satis- 
faction of  my  hunger,  is  pleasant ; and  the  satisfaction 
comes  most  quickly  with  the  quickest  and  most  direct 
movement.  This  idea  of  the  result  of  the  impulsive 
movement  is  a factor  in  the  total  experience  which  we 


§ 63.  The  Nature  of  Impulsive  Action  243 

have  not  mentioned  before : it  is  an  idea  which  must  evi- 
dently come  up  in  consciousness  after  action  upon  pre- 
sentation has  made  us  familiar  with  the  consequences  of 
movement,  and  an  idea  whose  pleasantness  will  have  a 
great  deal  to  do  with  the  shaping  of  the  impulsive  action. 
The  more  vivid  the  idea  of  result,  the  more  accurate 
becomes  the  representation  of  the  movement.  When  the 
impulse  has  reached  its  full  development,  it  is  sometimes 
difficult  to  say,  from  introspection,  whether  the  ultimate 
psychological  condition  of  the  action  is  attention  to  the 
object  (food),  or  attention  to  the  result  of  the  movement 
(satiety).  It  seems  that  the  idea  of  result  tends  more  and 
more  to  replace  the  idea  of  the  object,  as  consciousness 
advances  in  complexity. 

If  we  put  together  the  results  of  the  last  two  Sections,  we 
obtain  the  following  scheme  of  development : — 

(x)  Action  upon  Presentation.  — Food  is  presented;  it  is  attended 
to,  and  found  pleasurable ; movement  towards  follows.  Or  an 
injurious  substance  is  presented ; it  is  attended  to,  and  found 
unpleasant ; movement  away  follows. 

(2)  Action  upon  Representation. — (a)  The  undeveloped  impulsive 
action.  — Food  is  presented  (pleasant)  ; remembrance  of  for- 
ward movement  supplements  it ; movement  towards  follows. 
(6)  The  developed  impulsive  action.  — Food  is  presented 
(pleasant)  ; the  idea  of  satiety  supplements  it  (pleasant)  ; 
remembrance  of  direct  forward  movement  (pleasant)  supple- 
ments these  ideas ; direct  movement  towards  follows.  Or  an 
injurious  object  is  presented  (unpleasant)  ; the  idea  of  per- 
sonal safety  supplements  it  (pleasant);  remembrance  of  direct 
movement  away  (pleasant)  supplements  these  ideas ; direct 
movement  away  follows. 

We  can  trace  the  development  of  impulsive  action  in  the  move- 
ments of  young  children.  It  has  been  suggested  that  the  more  or 


244  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 

less  random  actions  of  the  newly  born  infant  may  be  actions  upon 
presentation,  actions  of  the  whole  organism  set  up  directly,  in 
response  to  a pleasurable  or  unpleasurable  impression,  without 
any  ‘ idea  of  movement,’  any  revival  of  the  organic  sensations 
aroused  by  previous  movement.  But  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  infant  moves  in  the  foetal  state,  and  thus  makes  acquaint- 
ance with  its  organic  sensations  before  birth.  Moreover,  obser- 
vation of  the  ‘ random  ’ actions  made  in  the  first  few  days  of 
infancy  shows  that  they  can  all  be  classified  as  more  or  less  per- 
fectly developed  impulsive  or  reflex  (§66)  movements  ; we  have, 
in  any  case,  only  to  wait  a little  to  see  them  pass  into  the  fully 
developed  form.  Even  the  movements  of  the  amoeba,  referred 
to  in  the  foregoing  Section,  may  perhaps  be  impulsive.  The 
movements  towards  and  away  may  be  differently  ‘ sensed’  ; the 
food-idea  may  be  supplemented  by  one  ‘ organic  sensation,’  and 
the  idea  of  the  deleterious  substance  by  another. 

Method.  — You  may  convince  yourself  of  the  great  difference 
between  action  upon  presentation  and  action  upon  representa- 
tion, i.e.,  of  the  extreme  importance  of  the  idea  of  movement 
for  the  regulation  and  perfecting  of  action,  by  the  following 
experiment.  Fix  the  attention  steadily  and  intently  upon  some 
idea  of  bodily  movement ; say,  the  rising  to  open  a window. 
You  will  find  that,  as  you  attend,  the  impulse  to  rise  grows 
stronger  and  stronger,  until  finally  you  can  overcome  it  only  by 
an  effort,  — by  the  idea  that  you  do  not  really  want  the  window 
open,  that  you  are  merely  making  an  experiment,  etc.  If  the 
movement-idea  is  so  powerful  in  the  adult  consciousness,  with 
all  its  complicated  mechanism  for  inhibition,  we  may  imagine 
what  it  must  be  in  the  mind  of  the  animal  or  child  or  savage, 
where  the  inhibitory  mechanism  is  very  much  less  developed. 

§ 64.  The  Place  of  Impulse  in  Consciousness. — -We 

mean  by  ‘ impulse  ’ the  complex  of  processes  which  forms 
the  psychological  condition  of  the  impulsive  movement. 
This  complex  is  a simultaneous  association  of  the  idea  of 
the  object,  the  idea  of  movement  to  or  from  the  object. 


§ 64.  The  Place  of  Impulse  in  Consciousness  245 

and  the  idea  of  the  result  of  the  movement,  — the  whole 
complex  being  the  object  of  passive  attention.  Impulse, 
as  thus  understood,  is  closely  related  to  the  two  complex 
processes  which  we  have  termed  feeling  and  emotion. 
The  three  experiences  may  be  distinguished  as  follows. 

The  impulse  differs  from  the  feeling  in  three  respects. 
The  feeling  contains  a single  idea  or  perception;  the 
impulse  contains  three.  Moreover,  in  the  feeling  the 
affection  is  stronger  than  any  sensation  in  the  complex ; 
in  the  impulse,  the  ideas  have  a very  considerable  part  to 
play  alongside  of  the  affection.  There  is,  further,  a dif- 
ference in  the  physiological  conditions  of  affective  expres- 
sion and  impulsive  action,  which  leads  to  a difference  in 
psychological  experience.  The  ‘expression’  of  the  feel- 
ing is  diffused  over  the  whole  body ; so  far  as  it  is  mus- 
cular, it  consists  simply  in  a general  strengthening  or 
weakening  of  the  whole  muscular  system.  The  expres- 
sion of  the  impulse  is  a definite  movement,  a definite 
group  of  muscular  flexions  and  extensions ; and  the 
organic  sensations  arising  from  this  movement  are  re- 
membered, and  turned  to  account  for  the  shaping  of 
future  impulsive  movements,  i.e.,  included  in  future 
impulses. 

The  impulse  differs  from  the  emotion  in  two  respects. 
Organic  sensations  enter  into  the  central  feeling,  the 
‘ body  ’ of  the  primitive  emotion  after  that  feeling  has 
taken  shape ; they  are  present  in  the  primitive  impulse 
from  the  very  first.  Hence  although  the  attention  im- 
plied in  the  formation  of  the  emotion  and  the  impulse  is 
the  same,  — passive  attention,  — there  is  noticeably  more 
effort  in  the  impulsive  than  there  is  in  the  emotive  con- 
sciousness. And  secondly,  the  organic  sensations  aroused 


246  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 

by  emotive  movements  are  far  more  complex  than  those 
which  attach  to  the  ideas  of  object  and  result  in  impulse. 
In  the  emotion,  they  proceed  from  a large  number  of 
bodily  organs,  and  from  the  whole  muscular  system  ; in 
the  impulse,  from  one  group  of  muscles. 

It  must  be  noted  that  the  first  of  the  two  differences  between 
impulse  and  emotion  can  be  brought  to  light  only  by  an  appeal  to 
the  primitive  forms  of  the  two  processes.  In  adult  experience, 
we  have  no  knowledge  of  two  stages  of  formation  in  the  emotion 
(§  57).  But  the  effort-factor  present  in  impulse  is  a reminder 
that  those  two  stages  did  once  exist,  and  that  they  have  no  coun- 
terpart in  impulse  itself. 

§ 65.  The  Forms  of  Impulse.  — Impulses  fall  into  two 
great  classes : impulses  towards,  and  impulses  away 
from. 

Just  as  we  should  be  able  to  obtain  a satisfactory  classi- 
fication of  the  emotions  if  we  could  determine  the  inevi- 
table and  typical  ‘ situations  ’ which  an  organism  must 
face,  so  we  should  be  able  to  classify  impulses,  if  we 
could  determine  what  ideas  of  objects  inevitably  attracted 
the  attention,  were  uniformly  supplemented  by  the  idea  of 
movement,  and  so  gave  rise  to  typical  impulsive  actions. 
But  the  conscious  processes  given  in  actual  experience  are 
so  intertwined  and  tangled  that  no  one  has  hitherto  suc- 
ceeded in  making  out  a list  of  such  ideas. 

It  is  customary  to  classify  impulses  by  the  res?ilts  of 
impulsive  action,  i.e.,  to  make  a list  not  of  the  objects 
which  evoke  that  action,  but  of  the  end  or  aim  of  the 
movement,  as  it  is  seen  by  the  outside  observer.  We 
saw  that  emotions  might  be  classified,  upon  a similar 
principle,  as  subjective  and  objective  emotions,  the  former 
consisting  principally  of  ideas  about  the  subject  experienc- 


§ 65.  The  Forms  of  Impulse  247 

ing  the  emotion,  the  latter  of  ideas  of  the  situation  which 
aroused  it.  Regarded  from  this  point  of  view,  impulses 
fall  into  two  groups  : subjective  or  individual,  and  objec- 
tive or  social  impulses.  The  result  of  impulsive  action  in 
the  first  case  is  to  accomplish  something  for  oneself ; its 
result  in  the  second  case  is  to  accomplish  something  for 
others  as  well  as  for  oneself. 

The  most  general  forms  of  subjective  impulse  are  the 
impulses  of  nutrition  (impulse  towards)  and  defence  (im- 
pulse away  from).  The  objective  impulses  appear  at 
three  levels  of  mental  development,  as  the  sexual  im- 
pulses (attraction  and  repulsion),  the  parental  impulses 
(affection  and  exclusion)  and  the  tribal  impulses  (friend- 
liness and  hostility). 

Instances  of  movement  following  from  these  impulses  would 
be  the  reaching  after  food  in  hunger ; the  clenching  of  the  fist  in 
anger ; choosing  a mate  within  a single  race  or  species  ; the  care 
devoted  to  one’s  own  offspring  and  the  ‘ stepmotherly  ’ treatment 
of  members  of  other  families  ; actions  due  to  professional  or  class 
bias,  to  imitation  of  one’s  neighbours,  etc.  All  forms  of  impulse 
are  more  clearly  shown  in  the  animals  than  in  man. 

The  close  connection  between  impulse  and  emotion  is  brought 
out  by  the  fact  that  some  of  the  words  used  in  the  text  to  desig- 
nate impulses  (attraction,  affection)  have  already  been  used  to 
designate  emotions  (§§  58,  60).  The  words,  of  course,  have 
different  meanings,  according  as  they  denote  an  impulse  or  an 
emotion  (§  64)  ; but  the  necessity  of  employing  one  word  in  two 
senses  adds  to  the  difficulty  of  classification  under  both  heads. 
— The  clenching  of  the  fist  in  anger  is  an  expression  of  impulse, 
which  has  become  incorporated  in  an  emotive  expression.  Orig- 
inally, the  movement  was  the  expression  of  the  impulse  to  strike, 
and  in  some  cases  it  still  retains  this  character.  It  is  then  a com- 
plete and  final  expression,  and  the  sensations  set  up  by  it  are 
attended  to  until  it  is  carried  out  promptly  and  effectively.  As 


248  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysts  of  Action 

part  of  the  expression  of  an  emotion  it  is  a relic  of  impulsive 
action,  and  the  sensations  set  up  by  it  serve  merely  to  colour  the 
central  feeling. 

§ 66.  Reflex  Action. — When  the  impulsive  action  has 
reached  its  highest  development,  the  idea  of  movement 
which  supplements  the  idea  of  the  object  is  an  exact 
image,  a memory  photograph,  of  the  movement  actually 
performed.  But  when  this  point  has  been  attained, 
there  is  no  longer  any  need  of  an  idea  of  movement  at 
all.  The  idea  has  been  useful  to  the  organism  as  shap- 
ing, guiding,  narrowing  down  the  movement  actually 
made ; but  now  that  the  movement  has  been  guided  into 
precisely  the  right  channels,  it  may  be  left  to  itself. 
Hence  we  find  that  if  a particular  impulsive  action  is 
constantly  recurring,  the  idea  of  movement,  originally 
contained  in  the  impulse,  gradually  drops  out  of  con- 
sciousness. Some  one  says  to  us:  ‘ There’s  a spider  on 
the  back  of  your  head ! ’ — and  we  raise  our  hand  to 
brush  the  spider  away,  i.e.,  perform  a localising  move- 
ment, without  any  thought  of  the  movement  itself. 

In  this  case  we  have  the  idea  of  the  object  (spider)  and 
the  idea  of  result  (brushing  the  spider  away).  We  have 
no  idea  of  movement,  and  we  do  not  pay  any  attention 
to  the  organic  sensations  aroused  by  the  actual  movement. 
In  another  instance,  we  may  have  but  very  vague  ideas 
of  object  and  result,  and  none  of  the  movement.  I may 
be  talking  interestedly  with  a friend,  and,  without  any  in- 
terruption of  the  train  of  ideas,  put  my  hand  to  the  back 
of  my  head.  Finding  a spider  there,  I may  say : ‘ Ah  ! I 
thought  I felt  something!’  Here  I had  some  vague  idea 
of  object  and  result,  but  no  idea  of  either  that  was  at  all 
definite. 


§ 66.  Reflex  Action 


249 


The  process  may  be  continued  still  further,  until  all 
three  of  the  impulse-ideas,  those  of  movement,  object 
and  result,  as  well  as  the  sensations  aroused  by  actual 
movement,  lapse  from  consciousness.  I may  make  a 
localising  movement,  and  flick  an  insect  away,  without 
knowing  that  I am  going  to  move,  that  I have  moved, 
that  the  insect  had  settled  on  me,  or  that  I have  re- 
moved it.  I wink  my  eyes  a hundred  times  a day, 
without  knowing  that  I do  so.  I turn  my  eyes  directly 
upon  anything  that  catches  my  attention  in  the  visual 
field,  and  so  bring  the  particular  object  upon  the  spot 
of  clearest  vision,  without  realising  that  I am  moving 
my  eyes  or  why  I am  moving  them.  And  so  on. 

The  first  of  these  three  types  of  action  is  impulsive 
action  which  is  just  poised,  so  to  speak,  at  its  highest 
level,  and  which  will  very  soon  begin  to  lose  its  con- 
scious character.  The  second  action  is  action  which 
stands  half-way  between  impulsive  and  reflex  action. 
The  third  is  reflex  action:  action  which,  originally  im- 
pulsive, has  grown  so  habitual  that  its  pleasure  has 
worn  off,  and  its  component  ideas  and  sensations  have 
entirely  disappeared  from  consciousness. 

Reflex  action,  then,  is  impulsive  action  which  has  become  a 
matter  of  course,  and  therefore  indifferent.  It  stands  to  the 
impulsive  action  as  the  indifferent  idea  stands  to  the  affectively 
toned  idea,  or  as  the  states  of  apathy,  composure,  etc.,  stand  to 
emotion.  Its  conditions  are  entirely  physiological  (§  44).  It 
has  no  place  in  psychology  in  its  own  right : it  calls  for  mention 
simply  as  an  instance  of  the  psychological  law  of  habituation.  It 
cannot,  strictly,  be  termed  ‘ action  ’ : it  is  a movement  which  has 
taken  shape  from  action.  We  may  keep  the  word  ' action  ’ for  it, 
however,  to  indicate  the  fact  that  it  does  not  stand  upon  the  same 
footing  as  the  involuntary  movements  of  heart,  lungs,  etc. 


250  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Ai ction 

The  physiological  conditions  of  reflex  action  are  simpler  than 
those  given  for  voluntary  movement  in  general  (§  61).  The  rein- 
forcing excitations  from  the  frontal  lobes,  and  the  consequent 
effect  upon  the  whole  nervous  system,  have  dropped  out  of  the 
series.  We  have  only  a sensory  excitation,  sensory  cell  explosion, 
motor  cell  explosion,  and  motor  excitation  with  its  consequence 
of  muscular  contraction.  Moreover,  the  sensory  cell  need  not  be 
a cortical  cell ; it  may  be  a cell  in  some  one  of  the  lower  nervous 
centres  {cf.  §3 2). 

An  impulsive  action  may  pass  over  into  a reflex  during  the  life- 
time of  an  individual.  But  we  inherit  the  mechanism  of  most  of 
our  reflex  actions  ; the  nervous  system  brings  with  it  a number 
of  ready-made  ‘ reflex-arcs,’  /.<?.,  connections  of  sensory  and  motor 
paths.  Some  of  these  arcs  are  perfect  at  birth  ; in  other  cases, 
a little  time  is  required  for  the  sensory-motor  connection  to  be- 
come quite  definite  (§  62).  The  impulses  out  of  which  these 
reflexes  have  proceeded  belong  to  an  earlier  period  in  the  life- 
history  of  the  race  or  species. 

§ 67.  Instinctive  Action.  — The  true  reflex  has  neither 
conscious  conditions  nor  conscious  concomitants.  There 
is,  now,  another  form  of  movement,  which  is  derived,  like 
the  reflex,  from  impulsive  action,  and  which  shows  many 
of  the  characteristics  of  the  reflex,  — but  which  has  well- 
marked  conscious  concomitants.  This  is  instinctive  move- 
ment. 

The  conscious  condition  of  impulsive  movement  is  atten- 
tion to  the  three  ideas  of  object,  movement  and  result. 
All  these  ideas  have  lapsed  from  consciousness  before 
movement  becomes  instinctive,  as  they  have  before  it 
becomes  reflex.  The  instinctive  movement  itself  resem- 
bles the  reflex  in  the  certainty  and  promptness  of  its 
performance,  and  in  its  serviceableness  to  the  organism. 
It  differs  from  the  reflex  only  in  its  greater  complexity : 
it  is  more  like  a series  of  reflexes.  But  — and  this  is 


§ 6y.  Instinctive  Action 


251 


the  important  point  — the  organic  sensations  aroused  by 
reflex  movement  are  entirely  neglected ; the  organic  sen- 
sations aroused  by  the  instinctive  movement  are  attended 
to,  and  are  highly  pleasurable. 

Here,  then,  is  the  difficulty  of  the  problem  which  in- 
stinctive movement  presents  to  the  psychologist:  How 
are  we  to  reconcile  the  fact  that  the  movement  has 
become  mechanical  and  reflex-like,  by  frequent  repeti- 
tion, with  the  other  fact  that  the  affection  has  not  worn 
off  the  sensations  which  accompany  it  ? 

First  let  us  be  sure  of  the  facts.  We  shall  get  our  best  illustra- 
tions of  instinctive  movements  from  animal  psychology.  (1)  There 
is  no  idea  of  the  7-esult  of  instinctive  movement.  — To  prove  this 
we  may  take  the  instance  of  the  second  year’s  bird  which  builds 
the  nest  peculiar  to  its  species,  or  of  the  caterpillar  which  spins 
the  complicated  cocoon  of  its  species.  The  animals  have  no  pat- 
tern to  go  by : there  can  be  no  idea  of  the  completed  nest  or  of 
the  finished  cocoon.  (2)  There  is  no  idea  of  the  object  to  or  from 
which  movement  is  to  be  made.  — The  newly  hatched  chick  pecks 
at  a newspaper  under  its  feet,  and  ducks  its  head  and  runs  when 
a pigeon’s  wing  flickers  over  the  barn-yard.  We  say:  ‘It  takes 
the  printed  letters  for  grains’  and  ‘It  thought  it  saw  a hawk.’  But 
it  never  has  seen  either  grains  or  hawks.  Evidently,  then,  it  can 
have  no  idea  of  the  object  to  or  from  which  it  is  moving.  The 
movement  is  touched  off,  reflexly,  by  the  sensory  stimulus,  just  as 
is  the  really  reflex  movement  of  the  hand,  whereby  an  insect  is 
flicked  away  from  the  coat  upon  which  it  has  settled.  (3)  There 
is  no  idea  of  the  movement  to  be  made.  — The  cage-reared  mi- 
grant beats  its  wings  against  its  cage  at  the  approach  of  winter, 
in  its  endeavour  to  fly  south.  It  never  has  flown  south  : it  can 
have  no  mental  representation  of  organic  sensations  which  have 
never  been  presented  in  its  consciousness.  (4)  The  sensations 
aroused  by  inst’inctive  movements  are  pleasant.  — This  is  borne 
out  by  introspection,  and  follows  from  such  instances  as  that  just 


252  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 

given,  where  the  pleasantness  of  the  organic  sensations  aroused  by 
instinctive  movement  is  strong  enough  to  overcome  the  unpleas- 
antness of  bruised  breast  and  wings.  We  see  the  same  thing  in 
the  fighting  instinct  developed  among  many  animals  during  the 
period  of  courtship.  The  consequences  of  the  combat  are  often 
unpleasant ; but  the  instinctive  movements  still  continue,  their 
pleasantness  overcoming  the  unpleasantness. 

To  reconcile  the  two  facts  we  must  have  recourse  to 
biology.  There  are  some  things  which  the  organism 
cannot  afford  to  neglect,  which  it  must  attend  to,  if  it 
is  to  survive  (cf.  § 38).  The  bodily  changes  set  up  by 
instinctive  movement  must  not  be  neglected.  The  move- 
ment is  of  the  greatest  importance  to  the  organism  ; and 
it  is  too  complicated  to  become  altogether  unconscious, 
to  be  turned  over  entirely  to  the  lower  nervous  centres 
for  regulation. 

To  this  statement  we  may  add  the  considerations  brought  for- 
ward with  regard  to  the  organic  sensations  in  § 56.  If  we  go 
back  to  the  sources  of  the  reflex  and  instinctive  actions,  we  see 
that  the  organic  sensations  which  enter  into  the  instinctive  con- 
sciousness would  be  more  intensive  than  those  aroused  by  the 
reflex.  It  is  natural,  then,  that  their  affective  tone  should  not 
wear  off.  Organic  sensations  remain  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  if 
they  are  at  all  intensive  ; their  stimuli  put  them  in  intimate  rela- 
tion to  the  total  state  of  the  nervous  system.  Moreover,  instinct- 
ive movement,  though  it  has  become  mechanised  in  the  course 
of  organic  evolution,  does  not  occur  so  continually,  in  the  life  of 
the  animal,  as  does  reflex  movement.  It  occurs  at  critical  periods, 
which  are  so  far  the  same  for  all  members  of  a species  that 
mechanisation  is  useful,  but  which,  just  because  they  are  critical, 
are  separated  by  intervals  of  greater  or  less  duration.  In  these 
intervals  other  types  of  action  suffice  for  the  needs  of  the  organism. 

The  true  instinctive  movement  has  no  conscious  con- 
dition. But  it  is  clear  that  when  a certain  instinctive 


§ 6y.  Instinctive  Action 


253 


movement  has  been  a few  times  performed,  every  later 
repetition  of  it  will  have  definite  conscious  antecedents. 
Human  instinctive  movement,  performed  in  adult  life, 
always  has  a conscious  condition,  consisting  of  the  ideas 
of  object,  result  and  movement.  At  this  point  we  have 
instinctive  action.  The  ‘ instinct  ’ — that  is,  the  conscious 
condition  of  the  instinctive  movement  — is  formally  indis- 
tinguishable from  the  ‘impulse’:  each  consists  of  attention 
to  the  same  three  ideas.  The  sole  introspective  difference 
between  instinctive  and  impulsive  action  is  the  greater 
intensity  and  larger  number  of  the  organic  sensations 
which  accompany  the  instinctive  movement.  We  must 
add  to  this,  however,  a difference  brought  out  by  com- 
parative introspection  : the  difference  that  instinctive  ac- 
tion is  often  performed,  in  obedience  to  biological  laws, 
in  the  face  of  opposing  impulses. 

We  find  instinctive  action  even  in  animals.  Thus  when  a bird 
comes  to  build  its  nest  in  the  third  year,  it  must  have  some  mem- 
ory of  the  pattern  of  last  year,  of  the  movements  of  nest-building, 
and  of  the  results  which  followed.  These  three  ideas,  all  pleasant, 
form  the  conscious  condition  of  the  instinctive  actions  of  this  third 
year. 

As  instances  of  human  instinctive  action  we  may  take  hunting 
and  competition.  When  a man  goes  out  duck-shooting,  he  has  an 
idea  of  his  object,  of  his  movements  and  of  the  result  at  which 
the  movements  aim.  Now  he  may  think,  on  reflection,  that  the 
object  is  insignificant,  that  the  movements  will  be  made  under 
very  unpleasant  circumstances,  and  that  the  result  is  problemati- 
cal : yet  he  goes,  and  enjoys  himself.  He  goes,  in  obedience  to 
the  instinct  of  pursuit;  he  enjoys  himself,  because  instinctive 
movements  are  pleasant. 

In  a case  like  this,  we  clearly  see  the  instinctive  nature  of  the 
action.  The  antecedent  ideas  in  consciousness  are  unpleasant : 
yet  a movement  towards  follows  them.  The  nervous  mechanism 


254  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 

works  automatically.  Had  the  conscious  antecedent  been  an 
impulse,  the  following  movement  would  have  been  movement 
away.  In  the  case  of  rivalry  (emulation,  competition)  there  is 
no  such  clear  difference.  The  action  might  be  regarded  as  impul- 
sive, were  it  not  that  we  can  trace  its  development  from  the  fight- 
ing instincts  of  the  lower  animals. 

It  is  important  to  grasp  the  fact  that  the  ‘ instinct  ’ comes  later 
than  the  ‘ instinctive  ’ movement.  We  never  have  impulsive  action 
without  impulse  (the  conscious  condition).  The  first  instinctive 
movements,  on  the  contrary,  are  made  without  any  conscious  con- 
dition, without  any  preceding  ‘ instinct.’  The  instinct  takes  shape 
when  we  have  had  some  experience  of  instinctive  movements  and 
their  results  : only  after  this  experience  do  we  get  the  full  process, 
‘ instinctive  action.’  This  fact  alone  would  be  enough  to  differen- 
tiate the  two  forms  of  action,  impulsive  and  instinctive,  even  if 
introspection  of  the  adult  consciousness  showed  no  difference  at 
all  between  the  two  experiences. 

No  satisfactory  list  of  human  instincts  can  be  made  out.  Be- 
sides the  two  mentioned,  the  instincts  of  pursuit  and  of  rivalry,  we 
may  instance  the  instinct  of  speech,  which  shows  itself  even  in  deaf- 
mutes,  and  which  is  normally  reinforced  by  the  impulse  to  imita- 
tion ; the  play-instinct,  which  in  animals  always  takes  the  form  of 
mimic  combats  ; the  instinct  of  inquisitiveness,  which  perhaps  had 
its  origin  in  apprehension  of  the  unknown  ( cf.  § 70)  ; and  the 
acquisitive  instinct,  which  probably  arose  under  the  biological 
necessity  of  storing  up  a supply  of  food  for  the  winter  months. 

§ 68.  Selective,  Volitional  and  Automatic  Action.  — Im- 
pulsive and  instinctive  actions  are  possible  only  so  long  as 
the  attention  to  their  antecedent  ideas  remains  passive. 
Action  which  is  conditioned  by  active  attention  is  termed 
selective  or  volitional  action. 

(1)  Selective  action  arises  when  we  have  in  conscious- 
ness the  materials  of  two  different  impulses,  — when  two 


§ 68.  Selective , Volitional,  Automatic  Action  255 

compound  ideas  of  object  and  result  are  both  alike  supple- 
mented by  the  idea  of  one’s  own  movement,  and  the  atten- 
tion oscillates  from  the  one  to  the  other.  A friend  meets 
me  on  the  street,  and  says : ‘ Come  out  for  a walk ! ’ I 
have  now  in  consciousness  the  impulse  to  walk  and  the 
impulse,  previously  formed,  to  go  home  and  work.  There 
is  a conflict  of  impulses,  and  action  follows  when  one  of 
the  two  has  gained  the  upper  hand  over  its  rival. — -Selec- 
tive action,  then,  stands  to  impulsive  precisely  as  active 
attention  stands  to  passive. 

It  follows  from  this  that  there  will  usually  be  more  effort  in  the 
experience  of  selective  action  than  in  that  of  impulsive ; active 
attention  means  more  effort  than  passive  (§  38).  The  conscious 
conditions  of  the  two  movements  also  differ  considerably  in  com- 
position : ‘ impulse  ’ is  a simultaneous  association  of  three  ideas, 
two  of  which  (the  ideas  of  movement  and  result)  are  pleasant, 
while  the  third  (idea  of  object)  may  be  either  pleasant  or  unpleas- 
ant ; ‘ choice  ’ or  ‘ selection  ’ presupposes  alternate  attentions  to 
two  such  associations,  accompanied  by  the  sentiment  of  doubt  or 
mood  of  indecision  (§  90). 

The  impulse  which  wins  is  the  impulse  which  is  favoured  by 
mental  constitution,  the  impulse  whose  cortical  excitations  are 
reinforced  by  a bodily  tendency  (§  35).  The  parallel  between 
the  victorious  impulse,  in  selective  action,  and  the  victorious  idea, 
in  active  attention,  is  so  close  that  no  more  need  be  said  here 
about  selective  action  in  general. 

(2)  Volitional  action  arises  when  we  have  in  conscious- 
ness two  sets  of  ideas,  which  are  both  strongly  pleasant 
or  unpleasant,  but  one  of  which  is  supplemented  by  the 
idea  of  our  own  movement  while  the  other  is  not.  The 
conflict  is  now  not  between  two  impulses,  but  between  an 
impulse,  on  the  one  hand,  and  attention  to  a set  of  ideas 
which  do  not  suggest  action  of  any  kind,  on  the  other 


256  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 

(§  69).  Which  complex  gets  the  upper  hand,  — whether 
action  or  no  action  results,  — depends  upon  the  capacity  of 
each  to  hold  the  attention.  Thus  I hear  my  alarum-clock, 
and  have  the  impulse  to  get  out  of  bed.  The  impulse  is 
opposed  by  the  idea  of  another  half-hour’s  sleep.  If  the 
impulse-ideas,  the  ideas  of  the  time,  of  my  day’s  work,  etc., 
can  hold  the  attention,  I get  up. 

(3)  Just  as  active  attention  may  become  passive, — 
when,  eg.,  we  grow  ‘ absorbed  ’ in  the  problem  before  us, 
— so  may  a selective  or  volitional  action  pass  into  a reflex- 
like form,  which  is  termed  automatic  action.  Some  par- 
ticular impulse  may  habitually  gain  the  victory  over  its 
rival  impulses,  or  over  the  ideas  which  compete  with  it  for 
the  attention.  When  this  is  the  case,  the  idea  of  move- 
ment, contained  in  the  impulse,  and  the  organic  sensations 
aroused  by  actual  movement,  gradually  cease  to  attract 
notice : the  whole  movement  becomes  indifferent,  and  is 
relegated  to  the  lower  nervous  centres  for  guidance.  In 
its  earlier  stages,  however,  automatic  action  differs  from 
reflex  action  in  the  fact  that  the  ideas  of  object  and  result 
do  not  entirely  lapse  from  consciousness.  I look  out  of 
window  and  see  the  postman  approaching,  and  say : 
‘I’ll  go  down  and  get  the  letters.’  The  movement  of 
walking  follows  upon  attention  to  the  ideas  of  object 
(postman)  and  result  (letters) ; it  is  itself  performed  quite 
automatically.  Or  a practised  piano-player  sits  down  to 
play  a score  at  sight.  He  has  the  idea  of  the  score,  and 
some  idea  of  the  result  of  his  playing  (he  knows  that  the 
composition  is  a march  or  a sonata) ; but  the  movements 
of  hands  and  fingers  are  automatic. 

At  a later  stage  the  whole  action  becomes  automatic. 
While  I am  writing,  I dip  my  pen  into  the  ink  time  after 


§ 68.  Selective , Volitional,  Automatic  Action  257 


time,  without  having  any  idea  of  the  ink-bottle,  of  the 
result  of  my  dipping,  or  of  the  movement.  So  with  walk- 
ing : walking  was  originally  a volitional  action,  but  is  now 
completely  automatic. 

Automatic  actions  of  this  latter  kind  are  true  reflexes,  — re- 
flexes which  have  taken  shape  from  selective  or  volitional  actions 
within  the  lifetime  of  an  individual.  They  are  sometimes  called 
‘ secondary  reflexes,’  the  adjective  ‘ secondary  ’ serving  to  mark 
them  off  from  the  reflexes  which  have  been  formed  from  impulsive 
actions,  during  the  lifetime  either  of  the  individual  or  of  the  race. 

Most  of  the  actions  of  our  everyday  life  are  of  a mixed  charac- 
ter, beginning  as  volitional  or  selective,  but  running  their  farther 
course  as  impulsive  or  automatic.  — The  same  advantage  follows 
from  the  growth  of  automatic  action  that  follows  from  the  passage 
of  active  into  passive  attention  (§  38).  The  less  we  have  to 
attend  to  the  unessential,  the  more  time  and  energy  have  we  to 
attend  to  the  essential.  As  more  and  more  organic  functions  are 
discharged  by  the  lower  nervous  centres,  the  frontal  lobes  are  left 
more  and  more  free  to  undertake  new  duties. 

Putting  together  the  results  of  this  chapter,  we  obtain  the  fol- 
lowing table  of  the  development  of  Action. 

Involuntary  Movements. Voluntary  Movements. 

( 1 )  Action  upon  Presentation. 

I 

Action  upon  Representation. 

(2)  Impulsive  Action. 


(3)  Reflex  Action.  (4)  Instinctive  Action.  (5)  Selective  and  Volitional 

Action. 

I 

(6)  Automatic  Action. 

It  is  tempting  to  regard  the  involuntary  movements  as  ex- 
tremely reflex  reflexes,  i.e.,  as  movements  which  spring  from  an 
original  impulsive  source,  but  are  now  so  far  removed  from  it  as 
to  show  no  trace  of  their  origin.  And,  indeed,  such  an  hypothesis 
would  probably  be  true  of  the  race,  though  untrue  of  the  individual, 
s 


258  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 

§ 69.  Inaction.  — Every  instance  of  attention  in  the 
primitive  consciousness  means  movement  of  the  primitive 
organism.  So  long  as  consciousness  is  inattentive,  the 
organism  is  inactive.  The  first  condition  of  inaction,  then, 
is  (1)  a generally  inattentive  (‘scatter-brained’)  state  of 
consciousness. 

(2)  Later  on,  when  action  upon  presentation  has  given 
place  to  action  upon  representation,  voluntary  movement 
does  not  follow  upon  attention  unless  one  of  the  ideas 
attended  to  is  the  idea  of  one’s  own  movement.  While 
the  impulsive  action  is  still  imperfectly  developed,  the 
idea  of  movement  will,  it  is  true,  be  liable  to  attach  to 
almost  any  presented  idea : the  child  stretches  out  its 
arms  for  the  moon.  Nevertheless,  there  is  now  a second 
possible  condition  of  inaction : the  association  of  the  ideas 
of  object  and  of  movement  will  be  broken  up  in  all  cases 
where  the  object  is  found  to  be  unattainable.  It  soon 
becomes  a matter  of  experience  that  reaching  after  the 
moon  is  fruitless,  and  has  no  pleasant  consequences. 
Hence  the  moon-idea  ceases  to  be  supplemented  by  the 
idea  of  movement.  Impulsive  action  passes  into  inaction, 
because  the  movement-idea  has  ‘ dropped  off  ’ certain 
ideas  to  which  it  was  once  associated. 

Inaction  may  result  (3)  from  a conflict  of  equally  strong 
impulses.  If  the  impulses  to  go  for  a walk  and  to  go 
home  and  work(§  68)  were  of  precisely  the  same  strength, 
I should  be  obliged  to  stand  still;  I should  be  inactive, 
until  one  of  them  was  reinforced,  and  so  gained  the  upper 
hand  in  consciousness. 

An  instance  of  this  sort  of  inaction,  so  often  quoted  that  it  has 
become  proverbial,  is  to  be  found  in  the  Sophisms  of  M.  Buridan, 
a rector  of  the  University  of  Paris  in  the  14th  century.  We  arc 


§ 6 g.  Inaction 


259 


asked  to  imagine  the  case  of  an  ass,  which  is  hungry  and  thirsty  in 
equal  degree,  and  is  placed  just  midway  between  a basket  of  oats 
and  a pail  of  water.  The  impulses  in  both  directions  being  exactly 
equal,  the  animal  would  starve. 

Inaction  may  result  also  (4)  from  the  fact  that  the  ideas 
which  rival  the  impulse  are  the  stronger  of  the  two  com- 
plexes. When  I hear  my  alarum-clock,  I have  the  impulse 
to  get  out  of  bed.  But  the  idea  that  I have  nothing 
especial  to  do,  combined  with  the  feeling  of  present  com- 
fort, may  overcome  the  impulse  : I stay  where  I am.  — In 
the  first  of  these  instances  we  have  inaction  in  place  of 
selective  action,  in  the  second  we  have  it  in  place  of 
volitional  action. 

The  last  illustration  shows  that  there  are  certain  ideas, 
in  the  developed  consciousness,  to  which  the  idea  of  move- 
ment has  never  been  associated  at  all.  We  must  suppose 
that  at  the  period  when  impulsive  action  was  emerging 
from  action  upon  presentation,  a movement-idea  was 
associated,  as  a matter  of  course,  to  every  idea  that  caught 
the  attention.  But  the  association  ceased  to  be  universal 
as  soon  as  the  idea  of  movement  ‘ dropped  out  of  ’ cer- 
tain impulses,  leaving  them  not  impulses,  but  ordinary 
associations.  Henceforth  the  idea  of  movement  formed 
connections  as  other  ideas  did : it  had  no  advantage  over 
them.  And  just  as  we  do  not  associate  the  idea  of  ‘ black  ’ 
to  that  of  ‘ grass,’  so  we  do  not  associate  the  idea  of  our 
own  movement  to  the  ideas  of  ‘ organism,’  ‘ concept,’ 
‘ocean’  and  a thousand  others.  Here,  then,  is  another 
condition  of  inaction  : ( 5 ) we  do  not  act,  because  there  is 
nothing  in  the  nature  of  the  object  attended  to  which 
should  call  up  the  movement-idea. 

Finally,  we  have  cases  of  pathological  inaction  (6)  in 


260  Voluntary  Movement.  Analysis  of  Action 

the  paralysis  of  the  organism  during  a violent  emotion, 
e.g.,  that  of  extreme  terror.  There  is  here  no  crouching 
down  or  running  away ; all  movement  is  inhibited. 

Since  in  the  primitive  consciousness  every  case  of  attention 
means  the  performance  of  an  action,  the  organism  has  a strong 
inherited  tendency  to  movement.  Hence  it  comes  that  we  never 
attend,  never  have  a clear  idea  of  anything,  — i.e.,  never  feel,  — 
without  also  moving  (§  33).  The  nervous  system  is  built  upon  a 
motor  plan  • it  is  never  disturbed  by  an  excitation  without  sending 
an  excitation  out  again,  to  some  part  of  the  body.  If  the  con- 
ditions of  voluntary  movement  are  not  fulfilled,  this  outgoing 
excitation  gives  rise  to  involuntary  movements  ; pulse  is  changed, 
the  viscera  move,  etc.  In  the  normal  man,  therefore,  inaction, 
the  absence  of  voluntary  movement,  does  not  mean  a state  of 
total  quietude  : whenever  he  attends  (feels),  certain  of  his  organs 
are  the  seat  of  involuntary  movements. 


PART  III 


CHAPTER  XI 

Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

§ 70.  The  Nature  of  Recognition. — Certain  objects  and 
processes  of  the  outside  world  are  familiar  to  us.  When 
their  ideas  appear  in  consciousness,  they  have  attaching 
to  them  a mark  or  sign  of  familiarity,  just  as  pressures  at 
different  parts  of  the  body  or  objects  lying  at  a distance 
from  us  in  the  field  of  visual  space  have  attaching  to  them 
a mark  or  sign  of  locality  (§  44).  The  local  sign  makes  a 
given  cutaneous  impression  a ‘ back  of  the  head  ’ impres- 
sion ; the  familiarity  mark  makes  that  or  another  im- 
pression a ‘ known  ’ or  ‘ recognised  ’ or  * remembered  ’ 
impression. 

The  problem  of  recognition , then,  is  very  similar  to 

that  of  localisation.  We  have,  in  each  case,  a particular 

* 

idea  or  group  of  ideas  which  differs  from  others  in  the 
fact  that  it  is  marked  or  qualified  in  a particular  way. 
The  mark  is  a conscious  process  or  group  of  conscious 
processes ; and  our  business,  in  each  case,  is  to  analyse 
and  reconstruct  it,  by  the  help  of  introspection,  and  to 
ascertain  its  physiological  conditions. 

Suppose  that  you  are  entering  a street-car.  As  you 
enter,  you  run  your  eyes  over  the  line  of  faces  before 
you.  The  first  half-dozen  of  your  fellow-passengers  are 
strangers ; their  faces  arouse  no  interest,  do  not  arrest 
your  gaze.  At  the  end  of  the  car,  however,  you  see  some- 

261 


262  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

one  whom  you  know ; you  recognise  him.  A sudden 
change  occurs  in  your  consciousness ; you  call  him  by 
name,  take  a seat  at  his  side,  and  begin  to  converse  with 
him.  — What  was  it  that  happened  in  consciousness,  at 
the  moment  of  recognition  ? What  are  the  conscious 
processes  involved  in  ‘ recognising  ’ ? 

For  one  thing,  your  visual  idea  of  your  friend  was 
supplemented  by  a number  of  other,  centrally  aroused 
ideas.  As  you  looked  down  the  line  of  strange  faces,  your 
present  train  of  ideas  was  not  interrupted  : the  visual 
ideas  were  indifferent  to  you.  But  as  soon  as  you 
receive  this  visual  idea,  a host  of  other  ideas,  derived 
from  your  past  intercourse,  flock  into  consciousness : will 
the  weather  spoil  the  excursion  that  you  were  planning  ? 
has  he  solved  the  problem  that  was  bothering  you  both 
last  night  ? did  the  morning  paper  say  anything  about 
that  election?  and  so  on.  — The  first  characteristic  of  the 
recognitive  consciousness,  in  this  instance,  is  the  supple- 
menting of  the  given  impression  by  a large  number  of 
ideas.  Recognition  has  meant  the  formation  of  a highly 
complex  simultaneous  association. 

At  the  same  time  that  the  association  is  being  formed, 
your  mood  has  changed.  As  you  entered  the  car  you  were, 
we  will  suppose,  thinking  indifferently  upon  your  imme- 
diate business.  When  you  see  your  friend,  the  mood  of 
indifference  changes  to  a mood  of  pleasantness,  which  we 
cannot  describe  better,  perhaps,  than  by  the  phrase  ‘ feel- 
ing at  home.’  The  mood  contains,  besides  the  pleasant 
affection,  a complex  of  organic  sensations,  set  up  by  an 
‘easy’  bodily  attitude.  — The  second  characteristic  of  the 
recognitive  consciousness,  then,  is  a pleasurable  mood. 

Putting  the  various  components  together,  we  have  (i) 


§§  jo,  71.  Nature  and  Forms  of  Recognition  2 63 

the  presented  idea;  (2)  its  centrally  aroused  supplements; 
and  (3)  the  mood  of  ‘feeling  at  home.’  The  union  of 
these  three  factors  gives  us  a ‘recognition.’ 

Since  the  supplementary  ideas  come  to  mind  in  obedience  to 
the  law  of  association,  i.e.,  because  certain  part-processes  are 
common  to  them  and  to  the  visual  idea  of  your  friend,  they  serve 
to  define  the  place  of  that  visual  idea  in  your  total  mental  experi- 
ence. In  this  sense  every  such  group  of  supplementary  ideas  may 
be  termed,  metaphorically,  a ‘ local  mark  ’ ; for  it  localises  the 
given  idea  in  time  and  in  place.  A ‘ local  mark  ’ of  this  kind, 
plus  the  ‘at  home  ’ mood,  constitutes  the  mark  of  familiarity. — The 
mood  of  recognition  is  a weakened  survival  of  the  emotion  of 
relief  (fear  unfulfilled).  To  an  animal  so  defenceless  as  was  primi- 
tive man,  the  strange  must  always  have  been  cause  for  anxiety 
(i f the  derivation  of  the  word  ‘fear’  : § 57).  The  bodily  attitude 
which  expresses  recognition  is  still  that  of  relief  from  tension,  that 
of  ease  and  confidence. 

Every  recognitive  experience  is  intrinsically  pleasant.  Its 
pleasantness  may,  however,  be  outweighed  by  the  unpleasantness 
of  the  recognised  idea.  If  the  face  which  I recognise  in  the 
street-car  belongs  to  an  individual  whom  I am  particularly  anxious 
to  avoid,  the  total  experience  is  unpleasant : an  unpleasurable 
emotion  is  set  up,  and  the  pleasantness  of  the  organic  sensations 
contained  in  the  recognitive  mood  is  forced  into  the  background 
of  consciousness.  We  have  something  very  similar  to  this  in 
the  instances  of  impulsive  and  instinctive  movements  away  from 
an  object.  The  sensations  evoked  by  the  movements  would,  of 
themselves,  be  accompanied  by  pleasantness ; but  the  idea  of  the 
object  may  be  so  fearful  or  loathsome  that  the  pleasantness  is 
not  felt. 

§ 71.  The  Forms  of  Recognition.  — While  the  local  signa- 
ture of  visual  and  cutaneous  impressions  differs  consider- 
ably in  different  consciousnesses,  it  is  always  something 
quite  definite,  a complex  of  well-defined  sensations.  The 


264  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

knowledge  that  a pressure  had  been  made  ‘ somewhere  ’ 
on  the  surface  of  the  body,  or  that  an  object  was  lying 
‘ somewhere  ’ in  visual  space,  would  be  of  little  service  to 
us.  The  local  sign,  if  it  is  to  be  of  any  value,  must  indi- 
cate some  particular  part  of  the  skin  or  some  particular 
point  in  visual  space.  On  the  other  hand,  the  familiarity 
mark  — supplementary  ideas  and  mood  of  ‘at  home’  — 
may  be  of  any  degree  of  definiteness  or  indefiniteness. 

Recognition  will  thus  have  two  typical  forms,  definite 
and  indefinite  recognition,  — forms  which,  nevertheless, 
pass  over  into  each  other  by  a large  number  of  intermedi- 
ate forms.  It  is  indefinite  when  the  sole  supplement  of 
the  given  idea  is  the  word  ‘known’  or  ‘familiar.’  We 
pass  some  one  on  the  street,  and  say  to  our  companion : 
‘I’m  sure  I know  that  face!’  Here  the  familiarity  mark 
consists  of  the  word  ‘ known  ’ and  the  recognitive  mood. 
Less  indefinite  are  those  cases  of  recognition  in  which 
the  presented  idea  calls  up  a general  classificatory  term. 
As  we  glance  down  the  line  of  strangers  in  the  street-car, 
we  may  think  to  ourselves:  ‘Lawyer,  — farmer,  — com- 
mercial traveller.’  We  have  recognised  them,  indefinitely  : 
the  familiarity  mark  consists  of  the  word  ‘ lawyer,’  etc.,  and 
the  recognitive  mood.  Lastly,  recognition  may  be  defi- 
nite; the  supplementary  ideas  may  be  so  numerous  and 
unequivocal  that  the  given  idea  calls  up  quite  definite  situ- 
ations and  incidents  in  our  past  experience.  Thus  we  may 
be  accosted  with  the  words : ‘ Don’t  you  remember  me  ? ’ 
We  recognise  the  speaker,  indefinitely,  as  a University 
man ; but  that  is  all.  ‘ Don’t  you  remember  Smith  ? ’ 
Recognition  becomes  more  definite ; but  we  have  known 
several  Smiths,  and  do  not  yet  definitely  recognise  this 
one.  ‘ Don’t  you  remember  the  Smith  who  was  with  you 


§ yi.  The  Forms  of  Recognition  265 

on  the  Brocken  in  ’87?’  Now  we  have  a crowd  of  sup- 
plementary ideas,  representing  incidents  experienced  in 
common  with  this  particular  individual ; the  mood  reaches 
its  full  intensity  ; recognition  is  definite. 

When  we  classify  recognitions  as  definite  and  indefinite, 
we  are  thinking  of  them  as  already  completed.  Recogni- 
tion is  definite  when  the  supplementary  ideas  are  definite, 
indefinite  when  they  are  indefinite.  We  can  now  classify 
recognitions,  from  another  point  of  view,  as  direct  and 
indirect.  In  this  instance,  we  are  thinking  of  the  way  in 
which  recognition  is  brought  about,  not  of  its  character  as 
an  item  of  actual  experience. 

Recognition  is  direct  or  immediate,  when  the  presented 
idea  is  at  once  supplemented  by  other  ideas,  and  the  recog- 
nitive  mood  at  once  aroused.  It  is  indirect  or  mediate 
when  the  familiarity  mark  is  not  called  up  by  the  presented 
idea,  but  only  by  some  idea  successively  associated  to  it. 

Thus  the  recognition  of  your  friend  in  the  street-car  is 
an  illustration  of  direct  recognition.  You  no  sooner  see 
him  than  the  supplementary  ideas  are  flocking  into  con- 
sciousness, and  the  recognitive  mood  is  in  course  of  forma- 
tion. The  recognition  of  Smith,  on  the  other  hand,  is  an 
indirect  recognition.  The  first  vague  supplements  of  the 
visual  idea  do  not  enable  you  to  recognise  it  as  the  idea  of 
an  old  acquaintance ; you  would  have  passed  by,  without 
knowing  that  you  had  met  a former  friend.  The  verbal 
(auditory)  idea  ‘ Smith  ’ is  now  associated  to  the  visual 
idea,  and  the  visual-auditory  complex  has  new  supple- 
ments. Still  recognition  is  not  definite.  The  verbal  ideas 
of  ‘ Brocken  ’ and  ‘ 1887  ’ are  now  further  associated  to  the 
visual-auditory  complex ; the  new  complex  has  many  sup- 


266  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

plements,  and  starts  a definite  train  of  ideas,  — recognition 
is  complete. 

If  we  reduce  the  process  of  indirect  recognition  to  its  lowest 
terms,  we  get  the  following  formula.  We  have  an  idea,  abc : say, 
the  visual  idea  of  a person.  At  first  this  idea  stands  alone  in  con- 
sciousness ; it  does  not  call  up  other  ideas.  Then  it  is  supplemented 
by  other  ideas,  xyz:  say,  the  auditory  complex  ‘ I was  with  you  on 
the  Brocken  in  ’87.’  Among  the  supplements  of  xyz  are  the  ideas 
of  the  walking-tour  to  which  they  refer,  pqr,  and  of  our  friend,  as 
he  was  then,  bed.  Here,  then,  is  a successive  association  of  ideas  : 
abexyz  gives  place  to  xyzpqrbcd.  The  recognitive  mood  attaches 
primarily  to  the  common  elements,  be ; it  is  extended  to  the  re- 
maining element  a (a  beard,  or  grizzled  hair,  or  a different  mode 
of  dress)  simply  because  this  element  is  given  in  connection  with 
be.  We  should  not  have  recognised  abexyz  except  by  way  of  the 
idea  xyzpqrbed ; the  recognition  is  indirect. 

§ 72.  Recognition  and  Cognition.  — In  course  of  time,  as 
we  know,  the  affective  processes  in  emotion  may  become 
so  far  weakened  that  the  emotion  passes  over  into  a mood. 
With  still  further  repetition,  the  affective  processes  in  the 
mood  disappear  altogether,  and  we  are  left  with  a ‘ mood 
of  indifference.’  The  recognitive  mood  of  ‘feeling  at 
home  ’ is  no  exception  to  the  rule ; its  pleasantness  wears 
off,  and  its  organic  sensations,  becoming  indifferent,  are 
disregarded. 

Thus  we  do  not  ‘ recognise  ’ the  clothes  which  we  put 
on  every  morning,  or  the  pen  with  which  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  write  : we  take  them  for  granted.  When  famil- 
iarity has  gone  thus  far,  — when  the  familiar  has  ceased 
to  call  up  supplementary  ideas  and  to  be  pleasant,  — we 
say  that  recognition  has  become  cognition.  We  cognise 
our  pen  as  our  pen,  and  our  clothes  as  our  clothes,  without 
any  intermediation  of  centrally  aroused  ideas  or  of  the 


§ 72-  Recognition  and  Cognitio?!  267 

recognitive  mood.  Cognition,  that  is,  is  a recognition 
which  has  become  automatic  and  mechanical ; it  stands 
to  recognition  very  much  as  reflex  stands  to  impulsive 
action. 

At  the  same  time,  it  does  not  seem  true  to  say  that 
cognition  has  no  psychological  conditions  of  any  kind, 
that  there  is  no  conscious  cognition-mark  belonging  to  the 
ideas  of  pen  and  clothes.  The  organic  sensations  which 
formed  part  of  the  original  recognitive  mood  are  disre- 
garded ; but  they  have  not  altogether  disappeared  from 
consciousness.  They  are  present,  weakly  and  vaguely, 
whenever  we  cognise ; so  that  if  we  describe  the  pleas- 
urable mood  of  recognition  by  the  phrase  ‘at  home,’ we 
may  say  that  cognition  has  a special  mood  of  indifference, 
best  described,  perhaps,  by  the  phrase  ‘of  course.’ 

Introspection  of  the  cognitive  consciousness  does  not  reveal 
any  trace  of  centrally  aroused,  supplementary  ideas.  It  is  true 
that  the  sight  of  pen  and  clothes  evokes  certain  movements.  But 
these  do  not  involve  the  idea  of  movement ; they  are  secondary 
reflexes  (§  68).  And  my  cognition  of  the  picture  which  always 
hangs  upon  a particular  wall  in  my  study  does  not  even  evoke  a 
movement.  Cognition,  therefore,  seems  to  be  brought  about 
solely  by  the  aid  of  the  ‘ of  course  ’ mood.  What  we  called  the 
‘ local  mark  ’ has  wholly  vanished. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  have  good  evidence  of  the  presence 
of  the  mood.  Introspection  bears  out  the  statement  that  when 
we  cognise  we  have,  besides  the  idea  cognised,  a vague  complex 
of  organic  sensations  which  proceed  from  the  bodily  attitude 
assumed  in  face  of  the  ‘ of  course  ’ impression.  These  sensa- 
tions are  best  observed  on  occasions  when  our  cognition  of  an 
object  is  for  some  reason  prevented.  We  look  at  our  inkstand, 
and  find  that  the  pen,  which  we  always  keep  in  it,  has  disap- 
peared; or  we  glance  round  the  breakfast-room,  and  discover 
that  a picture  which  has  always  hung  upon  a certain  wall  is 


268  Recognition , Memory  and  Imagination 

absent.  We  have  not  been  in  the  habit  of  recognising  pen  and 
picture ; they  are  too  much  matters  of  course  to  call  up  the 
recognitive  mood  and  supplementary  ideas.  But  now  that  they 
are  gone,  our  indifferent  ‘ of  course  ’ mood  is  jarred ; and  we 
are  at  once  on  the  alert  to  discover  the  reasons  for  their 
absence.  At  the  moment  of  jar,  at  the  instant  when  the  attention 
is  caught  by  the  unexpected  event,  the  sensations  which  make  up 
the  ‘ of  course  ’ mood  are  plainly  apparent ; but  their  clearness 
is  hardly  more  than  momentary. 

It  may  seem  paradoxical  to  assert  that  cognition  comes  later, 
in  the  course  of  mental  development,  than  re-cognition  ; as  para- 
doxical as  it  would  be  to  say  that  the  re- presentation  of  an 
object  can  occur  before  its  presentation.  The  paradox,  however, 
is  merely  a matter  of  terminology,  and  ceases  to  be  a paradox 
when  we  know  just  what  we  mean  by  the  words  ‘ recognition  ’ and 
‘cognition.’  We  have  had  something  similar  in  the  fact  that 
instinctive  movements  are  made  by  the  animal  before  the  instinct, 
the  conscious  condition  of  instinctive  action,  has  taken  shape 
(§  67). 

§ 73.  The  Investigation  of  Recognition.  — Four  principal 

problems  are  suggested  by  the  foregoing  Sections:  ( 1 ) Is 
direct  or  indirect  recognition  the  commoner  experience  ? 
(2)  Can  the  line  of  distinction  between  definite  and  in- 
definite recognition  be  drawn  with  any  degree  of  sharp- 
ness ? (3)  After  how  long  an  interval  is  recognition 

possible?  (4)  What  is  the  importance  of  verbal  associa- 
tion in  recognition  ? 

We  cannot  return  any  very  complete  answer  to  these 
questions.  Experimental  work  upon  them  has  been  begun, 
but  is  confined  so  far  to  cases  of  recognition  under  very 
simple  conditions  in  particular  sense  departments. 

Method. — (1)  Prepare  a large  number  of  solutions  of  odor- 
iferous substances.  Take  care  that  the  bottles  which  contain  them 


§ 73-  The  Investigation  of  Recognition  269 

are  all  of  the  same  appearance,  that  the  different  colours  of  the 
liquids  are  not  visible,  etc.  Let  the  subject  smell  them,  one  after 
another,  and  write  a description  of  the  conscious  processes  which 
each  scent  sets  up.  You  will  be  able  to  check  his  description  by 
your  observation  of  his  facial  expression  during  the  experiment ; 
the  mood  of  recognition  and  the  mood  of  uncertainty  give  rise  to 
different  expressive  movements  of  the  facial  muscles. 

In  an  investigation  made  with  a series  of  62  scents  it  was  found 
that  the  cases  of  direct  recognition  amounted  to  79.5 % of  the 
total  number.  In  44.9%,  supplementary  ideas  of  all  kinds  at  once 
flocked  into  consciousness;  in  27.6%,  a definite  name  was  at  once 
associated  to  the  impression  ; in  7%,  the  word  ‘ familiar  ’ was  the 
sole  associate.  The  remaining  recognitions  were  indirect. 

(2)  The  written  records  made  by  the  subject  in  the  experi- 
ments just  described  will,  evidently,  enable  us  to  classify  his 
recognitions  as  definite  or  indefinite.  Experiments  upon  this 
question  can  also  be  carried  out  as  follows  : A series  of  tones  or 
colours  is  presented,  term  by  term,  to  the  observer.  After  a cer- 
tain interval,  a single  tone  or  colour  is  given,  and  the  subject 
required  to  say  whether  it  was  or  was  not  contained  in  the 
original  series,  and  in  the  former  event  what  place  it  occupied 
there.  If  he  says  : ‘ I had  it  before,  but  I don’t  know  where  it 
came,’  the  recognition  is  indefinite  ; if  he  says  : ‘ It  was  the  third 
of  the  series,’  the  recognition  is  definite.  The  number  of  terms 
in  the  series,  the  order  in  which  they  are  given,  the  sense  depart- 
ment from  which  they  are  taken,  and  the  interval  separating  the 
series  from  the  single  impression,  must  all  be  varied  in  different 
sets  of  experiments.  — If  the  other  conditions  are  kept  the  same, 
definite  recognition  will  be  found  to  be  uniformly  dependent  upon 
the  length  of  the  time  interval,  so  that  the  dependence  is  expres- 
sible by  a mathematical  formula. 

(3)  A grey  disc,  which  we  will  call  the  standard  grey,  is  shown 
to  the  observer,  say,  for  5 sec.  After  a given  interval,  he  is  shown 
either  the  standard  grey,  or  a grey  which  is  somewhat  lighter  or 
darker  than  the  standard,  and  required  to  say  whether  or  not  it  is 
the  same  as  the  standard.  The  time  interval  is  increased  until 
mistakes  begin  to  be  made ; and  the  amount  of  error  which 


2 JO  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

each  increase  of  interval  brings  with  it  is  noted  by  the  experi- 
menter. 

(4)  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  verbal  association  is  extremely 
important  for  recognition.  Experiments  can  best  be  made  by  a 
method  similar  to  that  described  under  (2)  above. 

Prepare  two  series  of  discs,  of  different  brightnesses.  Each 
series  must  begin  with  white  and  end  with  black,  but  one  is  to 
contain  five  terms  in  all,  and  the  other  nine.  The  difference 
between  every  successive  pair  of  greys  must  be  the  same  for 
sensation ; i.e.,  you  must  choose  your  discs  in  accordance  with 
Weber’s  law  (§  27). 

Present  a series  to  the  subject,  going  in  regular  order,  from 
black  to  white  or  white  to  black.  After  a brief  interval,  show  him 
some  member  of  the  series,  taken  at  random,  and  ask  him  what 
place  it  occupied  in  the  original  series.  As  long  as  you  test  him 
by  the  5-series,  he  will  make  no  mistakes  ; he  is  able  to  remem- 
ber the  discs  by  the  verbal  associations  ‘ black,’  ‘ dark  grey,’  ‘ grey,’ 
‘ light  grey,’  ‘ white.’  But  when  you  take  the  9-series,  he  is  con- 
stantly making  mistakes;  he  has  no  verbal  association  to  guide 
him. 

You  can  convince  yourself  that  it  is  really  the  verbal  association 
which  is  doing  the  work  of  recognition  by  the  following  variation 
of  the  experiment.  Show  the  series  of  nine  brightnesses,  and  name 
each  disc  as  you  show  it : ‘ one,  two,  three,’  etc.  The  observer’s 
mistakes  at  once  decrease ; he  recognises  a given  grey  not  by  any 
grey-name,  but  by  help  of  the  number-name  ‘ four  ’ or  ‘ five.’ 

§ 74.  Recognition  and  Memory.  — We  have  seen  that  the 
recognitive  consciousness  consists  of  three  sets  of  pro- 
cesses: a presented  idea,  the  centrally  aroused  supple- 
ments of  this  idea,  and  a mood.  So  far  as  it  is  composed 
of  sensations  and  their  derivatives,  we  have  in  it  a simul- 
taneous association  of  ideas. 

Simultaneous  associations  of  ideas  may  be  of  three 
kinds : associations  of  peripherally  aroused  ideas,  of 
centrally  aroused  ideas,  and  of  peripherally  and  centrally 


§ 75-  The  Memory-Idea 


271 


aroused  ideas.  An  association  of  the  first  kind  does  not 
occur  in  the  developed  consciousness,  except  in  the  form 
of  a cognition;  no  complex  of  objects  shown  to  us  for  the 
first  time  can  be  so  utterly  unknown  and  strange  that  it 
is  not  indefinitely  recognised  as  a ‘ machine  ’ or  ‘ some  sort 
of  a plant,’  etc.  When  you  are  shown  a seismograph 
tracing  for  the  first  time,  you  may  be  wholly  unable  to 
say  what  it  represents ; but  at  least  you  know  that  it  is 
a scrawl,  a tracing  of  some  kind.  An  association  of  the 
second  type,  which  is  accompanied  by  the  recognitive 
mood,  is  termed  a ‘ memory.’  The  name  ‘ recognition  ’ is 
applied  only  to  associations  of  peripherally  and  centrally 
aroused  ideas. 

A memory,  then,  is  a centrally  aroused  idea,  centrally 
supplemented,  and  attended  by  the  mood  of  ‘ at  home.’ 
The  memory  consciousness  is  the  recognitive  conscious- 
ness, with  the  single  difference  that  the  principal  idea, 
the  idea  remembered,  is  of  central  origin.  We  have  now 
(1)  to  examine  the  nature  of  the  centrally  aroused  idea, 
and  note  the  points  in  which  it  differs  from  the  periphe- 
rally aroused,  and  (2)  to  enquire  into  the  conditions  of 
the  central  arousal  of  complex  mental  processes. 

§ 75.  The  Memory-Idea.  — If  we  have  witnessed  a bad 
accident,  we  are  ‘ haunted  ’ for  some  little  time  by  mental 
pictures  which  represent  it ; the  scene  keeps  repeating 
itself  before  our  mind’s  eye.  And  we  come  home  from 
the  hearing  of  a light  opera  with  ‘ our  head  full  ’ of  airs ; 
they  sing  themselves  to  our  mental  ear,  whether  we  will 
or  no. 

In  instances  like  these  we  have  the  most  primitive  form 
of  the  memory-idea.  The  memory-idea  is  originally  a 


272  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

sort  of  continued  after-image  (§  24),  an  after-image  which 
persists  long  after  the  peripheral  effects  of  the  stimulus 
have  passed  away.  It  is  the  mental  counterpart  of  the 
central  (cortical)  portion  of  the  total  excitation  set  up  by 
the  stimulus. 

The  memory-idea,  at  this  stage,  does  not  differ  in  quality 
from  its  peripheral  predecessor.  The  pallor  of  the  injured 
man’s  face,  the  colour  of  his  clothing,  the  blood  issuing 
from  the  crushed  limb,  are  all  branded  upon  consciousness, 
and  remain  what  they  were.  The  memory-idea  is,  how- 
ever, less  intensive,  less  clear  in  outline,  and  as  a rule  less 
permanent  than  the  peripheral.  We  are  not  so  liable  to  be 
sickened  by  our  memory  of  the  accident  as  we  were  by 
the  sight  of  if,  however  vivid  the  memory  may  be ; the 
details  of  the  scene  are  less  sharply  cut  than  they  were  in 
reality ; and  there  is  a greater  likelihood  of  the  memory 
being  ousted  by  other  ideas,  of  its  losing  hold  upon  the 
attention,  than  there  was  while  we  were  spectators  of  the 
actual  occurrence.  Although,  therefore,  the  memory-idea 
is,  on  the  side  of  quality,  a representation  or  reproduction 
of  the  accident  or  operatic  air,  the  intensity,  duration  and 
extension  of  its  component  sensations  are  sufficiently  dif- 
ferent from  those  of  its  original  to  prevent  any  danger  of 
confusion. 

But  if  at  first  the  memory-idea  gives  a photographic 
reproduction  of  the  qualities  which  it  represents,  it  soon 
begins  to  lose  its  qualitative  accuracy.  It  is  thrust  out  of 
consciousness,  and  brought  back  again ; it  is  overrun  by 
other  memories ; it  forms  connections  with  a host  of  other 
ideas.  It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  as  time  goes  on  it 
becomes  very  dissimilar  from  its  original.  Indeed,  if  our 
memories  were  composed  exclusively  of  reproductions, 


§ 75-  The  Memory-Idea  273 

they  would  be  untrustworthy  as  regards  events  which  had 
occurred  even  within  a few  days  of  their  recall. 

Fortunately,  however,  the  fact  that  every  idea  in  con- 
sciousness tends  to  form  connections  with  other  ideas, — 
a fact  which  might  have  been  the  ruin  of  memory,  — 
proves  to  be  its  salvation.  A consideration  of  two  points 
will  make  this  clear.  (1)  Every  experience,  however  com- 
plex, can  be  expressed  by  a number  of  words,  a verbal 
description.  Now  we  have  seen  that  verbal  association 
is  one  of  the  most  important  forms  of  simultaneous 
association ; the  associated  word  or  words  put  the  seal 
of  finality  upon  the  experience.  And  the  word-idea,  the 
visual,  auditory  and  tactual  complex  (§  53),  is  a relatively 
stable  idea ; it  is  one  of  those  mental  processes  which 
have  come  to  be  used  for  the  sake  of  what  they  mean, 
rather  than  for  their  own  sake ; its  intrinsic  interest  has 
entirely  worn  off  (§  56).  Hence  it  comes  about  that  the 
word-idea,  which  originally  served  to  clinch  a simultaneous 
association  of  other  ideas,  tends  to  replace  these ; our 
memory  of  past  events  is  very  frequently  nothing  more 
than  the  reproduction  of  the  form  of  words  which  we  have 
associated  to  them ; we  say  that  we  ‘ remember  ’ hear- 
ing Patti  sing  twenty  years  ago,  when  all  that  we  really 
remember  is  our  own  statement  of  the  fact.  (2)  Every 
mind  has,  in  virtue  of  its  special  constitution,  a tendency 
to  the  formation  of  connections  in  one  sense  department 
rather  than  in  others.  Although  we  could  localise  a press- 
ure upon  the  back  of  the  head  either  by  organic  sensa- 
tions or  by  a visual  picture  of  the  part  touched,  most  of  us 
do,  as  a matter  of  fact,  use  the  visual  picture.  The  ordi- 
nary consciousness  is  dominated  by  visual  ideas  ( cf . §§4, 
7,  16,  21,  43,  44) ; the  average  man  and  woman  think  only 


274  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

of  how  they  look,  not  of  how  they  sound,  or  of  how  their 
favourite  perfume  may  offend  the  noses  of  their  fellow- 
men.  Indeed,  the  word  ‘ idea  ’ (form,  image)  bears  suffi- 
cient witness  to  the  fact,  and  further  evidence  is  furnished 
by  the  phrases:  ‘Just  imagine!'  ‘ Figurez  vous  ! ’ and 
‘ Stellen  Sie  sich  v or  ! ’ 

When  our  memory  of  a past  event  is  reproductive,  then, 
— instead  of  being  merely  verbal,  — it  will  be  reproduct- 
ive, as  a general  rule,  upon  the  visual  side ; the  auditory, 
olfactory,  gustatory  and  tactual  reproductions  will,  if 
they  appear  at  all,  be  quite  vague  and  wholly  subordi- 
nate to  their  visual  associates.  Less  frequent  is  the  occur- 
rence of  an  auditory  or  tactual  type  of  memory,  of  a 
consciousness  dominated  not  by  vision  but  by  the  ideas 
of  hearing  or  touch.  Memories  of  this  kind  have,  how- 
ever, been  described ; and  their  existence  follows  natu- 
rally from  the  known  differences  of  mental  constitution. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  predominance  of  one  kind  of  mem- 
ory, the  preference  given  to  connections  within  a single  sense 
department,  is  rarely  carried  so  far  that  no  other  memories  are 
at  the  disposal  of  consciousness.  However  strong  one’s  tend- 
ency to  visual  thought,  it  is  not  probable  that  one  will  read 
a book  entirely  by  eye,  without  faint  auditory  reproductions 
(words  heard)  and  weak  innervations  of  the  muscles  of  the  larynx 
(words  spoken).  Many  people  who  have  a definite  leaning  in,  say, 
the  visual  direction,  are  nevertheless  able,  when  occasion  arises,  to 
think  in  terms  of  hearing  and  touch ; and  these  supplementary 
memories  are  susceptible  of  great  improvement  by  education 
and  practice.  We  must,  therefore,  recognise  a ‘ mixed  ’ memory 
type,  alongside  of  the  visual,  auditory  and  tactual. 

A ‘ mixed  ’ memory  is,  obviously,  of  greater  practical  service 
to  its  possessor  than  a ‘ pure  ’ memory.  In  the  first  place,  more 
aspects  of  the  physical  world  can  be  reproduced  in  consciousness, 


§§  75.  7*5-  The  Memory-Idea ; Retention  275 

i.e.,  memory  is  more  complete  ; and  secondly,  what  is  remembered 
is  remembered  in  more  ways,  i.e.,  memory  is  more  reliable.  Just 
as  we  ‘ hear  ’ a lecturer  better  if  we  keep  our  eyes  upon  his  face, 
so  we  remember  an  event  better  if  various  senses  are  called 
upon  to  furnish  the  idea  which  reproduce  it. 

We  have  a good  instance  of  the  customary  predominance  of 
vision  in  the  fact  that  dream-ideas  are  almost  exclusively  visual. 
The  organic  sensations  attending  an  indigestion  are  translated,  as 
it  were,  into  the  visual  picture  of  a monster  seated  upon  our  chest ; 
the  pins  and  needles  of  a cramped  arm  are  translated  into  the 
picture  of  an  acquaintance  who  nips  us  with  a pair  of  pincers,  etc. 

Since  the  raw  material  of  memory-ideas  consists,  in  every  case, 
of  centrally  aroused  sensations,  it  is  natural  that  memory  should 
obey  Weber’s  law  in  every  instance  where  the  law  holds  for  the 
corresponding  peripheral  sensations.  Thus  our  memory  for  bright- 
nesses is  relative ; the  distribution  of  light  and  shade  in  a painting 
is  accepted  as  a correct  representation  of  reality,  although  the 
landscape  painted  was,  absolutely,  very  much  brighter  than  any- 
thing on  the  painted  canvas  can  be.  Our  memory  of  a melody 
is  also  relative  (§  50)  ; we  recognise  it,  as  it  is  now  played, 
although  it  may  be  played  in  a different  key  from  that  in  which 
we  have  heard  it  rendered  on  former  occasions.  On  the  other 
hand,  our  memory  for  colours  is  absolute. 

§ 76.  Retention.  — - An  idea  is  formed,  in  correspondence 
with  an  object  or  process  of  the  outside  world.  It  lapses 
from  consciousness,  to  be  recalled  after  a certain  interval. 
What  becomes  of  it  in  the  meantime  ? 

So  long  as  the  idea  was  regarded  as  a permanent 
‘thing,’  an  unchanging  ‘bit’  of  mind,  there  could  be  but 
one  answer  to  this  question.  The  idea  must  be  somehow 
conserved,  retained,  from  the  time  of  its  formation ; it  is 
laid  away,  unregarded,  in  the  outermost  fringe  of  con- 
sciousness; but  it  still  persists,  as  a conscious  fact,  only 


276  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

waiting  its  time  to  attract  the  attention  and  come  to  the 
front  again. 

We  have  rejected  the  view  that  the  idea  is  a thing,  and 
have  regarded  it  always  as  a process,  a becoming.  But 
even  if  we  had  not,  we  should  be  unable  to  obtain  from 
introspection  any  warrant  for  the  view  that  the  mind  is 
a storehouse,  containing  all  the  ideas  which  have  at  any 
time  formed  part  of  our  experience.  (1)  There  are  many 
occasions  when  we  wish  to  remember  an  event  or  a name 
or  a date,  but  cannot  do  so ; when  we  cannot  find  the 
desired  idea,  search  consciousness  as  closely  as  we  may. 
If  the  idea  were  there,  it  would  surely  be  discoverable. 

(2)  Consciousness  is  complex  enough ; but  there  is  no 
evidence  that  it  is  so  enormously  complex  as  the  theory 
would  require.  We  can  hardly  imagine  what  would  be 
the  complexity  of  the  adult  consciousness,  if  every  single 
conscious  process  had  to  be  stored  away.  In  other  words, 
the  fact  that  we  forget  is  as  indubitable  as  the  fact 
that  we  remember.  Some  events  never  are  remembered. 

(3)  The  fact  that  we  forget  may  be  brought  out  in  another 
way.  If  all  our  ideas  were  retained  by  consciousness, 
we  should  have  a complete  panorama  of  our  past  life ; 
we  could  pass  from  idea  to  idea  without  a single  break. 
The  adult  reader  will  need  very  little  introspection  to 
assure  him  that  his  memory  is  really  fragmentary,  that 
there  are  great  gaps  in  his  reproduction  of  past  experi- 
ence. A diary  written  forty  years  ago  will  speak  of 
incidents  which  cannot  be  reconstructed ; and  the  friends 
referred  to  familiarly  by  their  initials  will  have  dropped 
out  of  mind  so  completely  that  the  letters  are  entirely 
meaningless. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  mental  retention,  the  per- 


§ y6.  Retention 


277 

sistence  of  an  idea  from  month  to  month  or  year  to  year 
in  some  mental  pigeon-hole  from  which  it  can  be  drawn 
when  wanted.  What  persists  is  the  tendency  to  connec- 
tion (§  55).  The  view  from  my  window  reminds  me  of  a 
certain  Swiss  landscape.  It  may  be  that  certain  visual 
qualities  or  arrangements  presented  by  it  were  also  pre- 
sented by  the  Swiss  landscape ; it  may  be  that  the  form 
of  words  which  I use  to  describe  its  beauties  is  in  part 
the  same  as  that  which  I use  to  describe  the  Swiss  scene. 
In  either  case,  the  idea  of  the  Swiss  landscape  is  formed 
afresh , reformed  (under  the  general  conditions  of  associa- 
tive supplementing),  whenever  it  is  suggested  by  a glance 
from  my  window.  Certain  elements  in  the  given  idea 
or  its  supplements  have  formed  certain  habits  of  connec- 
tion ; and  these  tendencies  to  connect  are  realised  under 
favourable  conditions.  The  idea  of  the  Swiss  landscape  is 
‘available’  (§  53)  ; but  I do  not  keep  it  by  me,  ready  made. 

When  the  connection  is  formed,  I have  the  recognitive 
mood  ; I recognise  parts  of  the  view  as  parts  of  the  Swiss 
landscape,  and  feel  at  home  in  regard  to  them.  — How 
definite  the  recognition  is,  in  a particular  case,  will  depend 
upon  circumstances ; I may  have  simply  the  indefinite  idea 
that  I have  ‘ seen  something  like  this  view  before.’ 

‘ Nevertheless,  there  must  be  retention  somewhere,’ the  reader 
may  object ; ‘ for  how  could  the  tendency  to  connect  persist  with- 
out it?’  The  objection  is  valid.  But  we  must  look  for  retention 
not  in  consciousness,  but  in  the  physiological  processes  which 
constitute  its  condition.  The  cerebral  cortex  is  retentive.  When 
a certain  group  of  cells  has  been  exploded  in  a certain  way,  it 
retains  a disposition  to  explode  again  in  the  same  way  ; every 
exercise  of  nervous  function  leaves  behind  it  a functional  dispo- 
sition. The  Swiss  landscape  cells,  having  been  all  exploded 
together,  are  disposed  to  explode  together  again,  when  any  one 


278  Recognition , Memory  and  Imagination 

member  of  the  group  is  exploded  by  a present  stimulus.  The 
strength  of  the  functional  disposition  in  a particular  case  depends 
upon  practice,  i.e.,  the  frequency  of  common  functioning  in  the 
past,  and  upon  bodily  tendency. 

§ 77-  Memory  and  Cognition.  — We  have  seen  that  a 
peripherally  aroused  idea,  if  it  is  of  frequent  occurrence, 
ceases  to  be  recognised  and  becomes  cognised.  Its  cen- 
tral supplements  drop  off,  and  the  ‘ at  home  ’ mood  changes 
to  the  ‘of  course’  mood. 

We  have  a precisely  parallel  process  in  the  case  of 
memory.  A centrally  aroused  idea,  if  it  is  of  frequent 
occurrence  in  consciousness,  ceases  to  be  remembered, 
and  becomes  cognised.  Its  central  supplements  fall  away, 
and  the  recognitive  mood  gives  place  to  the  cognitive. 

We  solve  a geometrical  problem,  eg. , by  the  help  of 
definitions,  axioms,  postulates,  and  the  results  of  our  solu- 
tion of  previous  problems.  As  we  work,  these  postulates 
and  previous  solutions  occur  to  us ; their  ideas  are  centrall) 
aroused.  But  they  need  not  bear  the  memory  mark  : they 
need  not  be  supplemented  by  the  ideas  of  the  book  from 
which  we  learned  them,  of  our  early  struggles  with  their 
difficulty,  of  the  schoolroom,  of  the  master  who  taught  us, 
etc.,  and  they  need  not  bring  the  mood  of  familiarity  with 
them,  — they  may  be  matters  of  course.  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances we  must  call  them  not  memories  but  cognitions. 

§ 78.  The  Investigation  of  Memory.  — The  experimental 
investigation  of  memory,  like  that  of  recognition,  is  still 
in  its  first  beginnings.  Three  problems  suggest  them- 
selves: (1)  How  shall  we  determine  the  subject’s  memory 
type,  and  how  educate  his  less  developed  memories  ? (2) 

How  long  does  a reproduction  retain  its  quality,  i.e.,  resist 
the  influence  of  the  other  contents  of  consciousness,  and 


§ y8.  The  Investigation  of  Memory  279 

remain  what  it  originally  was,  an  exact  photograph  of  a 
physical  object  or  process?  (3)  What  is  the  range  of 
memory ; i.e.,  how  many  connections  can  be  formed  in  a 
given  time? 

No  one  of  these  three  questions  has  been  satisfactorily 
answered,  though  something  can  be  said  upon  each  topic. 

Method. — (1)  The  best  way  to  determine  memory  type  is 
to  examine  one’s  memory-ideas  introspectively,  to  ascertain  what 
one’s  memory  of  a given  event  actually  is.  This  method,  how- 
ever, can  be  safely  used  only  by  a highly  practised  and  impartial 
observer.  Consciousness  must  be  taken  ‘ off  its  guard,’  at  all 
times  and  seasons,  and  all  sorts  of  memories  scrutinised.  It  is 
important  to  note  not  only  what  has  been  remembered,  but  also 
what  has  been  forgotten  : the  subject  must  imagine  the  total  event, 
which  his  memory  represents,  and  see  how  much  of  the  imagina- 
tion is  indicated  by  the  memory. 

Another  method  is  that  of  description.  Write  out  all  that  you 
remember  of  an  occurrence,  and  go  over  your  description  care- 
fully, noting  what  kind  of  incidents  are  recalled  (things  seen, 
things  heard,  etc.),  and  what  omitted.  — Something  may  also  be 
done  by  judicious  questioning,  by  the  method  of  suggestion. 
Suggest  some  familiar  event  to  the  subject,  and  note  how  accu- 
rately he  is  able  to  reproduce  it.  Introspection  by  the  subject 
himself  will  be  of  great  assistance  here. 

A rudimentary  memory  can  best  be  trained  by  the  method  of 
reproduction.  If  the  subject  has  a poor  visual  memory,  show  him 
series  of  simple  visual  designs,  and  let  him  reproduce  them  on 
paper  after  a brief  interval.  As  his  memory  improves,  the  com- 
plexity of  the  designs  must  be  increased,  and  the  interval  length- 
ened. If  he  has  a poor  auditory  memory,  let  him  have  passages 
read  aloud  to  him,  and  attempt,  after  a given  interval,  to  repeat 
what  he  heard.  If  he  has  a poor  tactual  memory,  let  him  practise 
a finger-exercise  upon  the  piano  keyboard,  until  his  fingers  run 
‘ of  themselves  ’ ; or  let  him  close  his  ears,  and  repeat  some  famil- 
iar sentence  aloud,  until  he  has  the  ‘ feel  ’ of  the  words  in  his 


280  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

throat.  The  attention  must,  of  course,  be  concentrated  as  exclu- 
sively as  possible  upon  that  aspect  of  the  stimulus  which  it  is 
desired  to  remember. 

(2)  The  method  of  description  is,  perhaps,  the  best  for  testing 
the  qualitative  accuracy  of  memory.  No  investigation,  however, 
has  as  yet  been  made.  Another  possible  method  is  that  of  com- 
parison. The  subject  calls  up  a memory-idea,  visual,  auditory, 
or  what  not,  and  when  it  has  become  quite  clear  in  consciousness, 
is  asked  to  compare  it  with  a given  impression.  The  impression 
is  something  which  more  or  less  nearly  resembles  the  object  which 
the  subject’s  memory-idea  represents. 

(3)  The  range  of  memory  may  be  tested  as  follows.  Prepare 
a number  of  nonsense  syllables,  each  consisting  of  two  consonants 
and  a vowel,  — say,  1000  in  all.  Form  series,  quite  at  random, 
making  the  series  of  different  lengths:  5,  10,  15,  etc.  Read  a 
series  aloud,  repeating  the  reading  until  you  can  say  the  syllables 
through  ‘ by  heart.’  Note  the  time,  i.e.,  the  number  of  repetitions, 
required  for  the  memorising  of  the  different  series.  Care  must 
be  taken  to  read  always  at  the  same  rate,  in  the  same  rhythm, 
and  with  the  same  degree  of  attention. 

You  will  find  that,  with  fairly  short  series,  the  range  of  memory 
is  proportional  to  the  time  spent  in  memorising,  i.e.,  to  the  num- 
ber of  repetitions.  The  longer  you  take  to  learn,  the  oftener  you 
go  over  the  series,  the  better  you  remember. 

The  investigation  of  memory  is  rendered  peculiarly  dif- 
ficult by  the  fact  (§  75)  that  our  memory  of  an  event  is  not 
a reproduction,  an  exact  representation  of  it.  For  prac- 
tical purposes,  we  may  congratulate  ourselves  that  memory- 
ideas,  like  words,  come  to  be  attended  to  not  for  what  they 
are  in  themselves,  but  for  what  they  mean.  Even  when 
they  are,  in  part,  reproductive  (as  we  assumed  in  our  dis- 
cussion of  Retention,  and  as  is  the  case  when  we  recall  a 
scene  by  visual  memory,  or  an  air  by  auditory),  the  repro- 
duction is  exceedingly  incomplete,  and  is  attended  to  not 


§ 7 8-  The  Investigation  of  Memory  281 

as  a reproduction  but  as  a symbol  of  a total  experience. 
But  when  we  set  to  work  to  examine  memory,  by  psycho- 
logical methods,  we  are  at  once  confronted  by  the  ques- 
tion : What  is  the  particular  symbol,  reproductive,  verbal, 
etc.,  which  this  particular  subject  employs  in  his  memories  ? 
Until  this  question  has  been  answered, — and  its  answer  is 
by  no  means  easy,  — further  investigation  is  impossible. 

It  follows  from  our  description  of  recognition  and  memory 
that  we  cannot  recognise  and  remember  an  affection.  We  can, 
of  course,  recognise  and  remember  an  idea  of  affection  (§  59). 
But  when  we  wish  to  revive  a pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  we 
do  so  by  fixing  the  attention  upon  the  ideas  to  which  it  attached  : 
we  call  back  the  (pleasant  or  unpleasant)  ‘situation.’  The  mem- 
ory-ideas, which  represent  the  original  experience,  are,  naturally, 
accompanied  by  the  affection  which  coloured  that  experience. 

The  more  complete  and  accurate  the  reproduction  of  the  situa- 
tion, the  stronger  is  the  affection  which  attaches  to  it.  As  a rule, 
however,  the  reproduction  is  so  fragmentary,  and  the  new  connec- 
tions which  its  part-processes  have  formed  so  numerous,  that  the 
‘ revived  ’ affection  is  very  considerably  weaker  than  its  original. 
Indeed,  it  may  have  changed  to  the  opposite  quality.  However 
vividly  we  recall  a punishment  of  our  school-days,  we  cannot  feel 
the  unpleasantness  now  as  we  felt  it  at  the  time.  And  if  we  suffer 
the  reproductive  ideas  to  bring  into  consciousness  the  ideas  which 
have  become  associated  to  them  in  our  subsequent  life,  the  un- 
pleasantness may  not  be  felt  at  all : we  may  smile  as  we  recall  the 
experience  ; unpleasantness  has  changed  into  pleasantness. 

In  Chapter  VII  we  refused  to  make  any  distinction  between 
the  perception  and  the  idea.  It  may  now  occur  to  the  reader  that 
the  refusal  was  ill-advised ; that  to  distinguish  recognition  from 
memory  we  have  been  compelled  to  distinguish  the  peripherally 
aroused  from  the  centrally  aroused  idea ; and  that  it  would  make 
our  psychology  easier  if  we  said  that  perceptions  were  recognised 
and  ideas  remembered. 


v 


282  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

As  a matter  of  fact,  it  is  just  because  the  distinction  is  of  practr 
cal  importance  only,  and  not  of  scientific  value,  that  we  refused 
to  make  it.  Practically,  in  everyday  life,  there  is  a difference 
between  the  recognitive  and  the  memory  consciousnesses  ; sciern 
tifically,  there  is  no  difference.  No  centrally  aroused  idea,  that  is 
to  say,  is  intrinsically  a memory-idea  : its  qualities  are  the  quali- 
ties of  peripherally  aroused  ideas,  and  its  mode  of  formation  does 
not  differ  from  theirs.  It  is  only  in  virtue  of  a certain  function 
or  meaning  that  it  becomes  a memory-idea. 

It  might  be  well,  perhaps,  to  reject  the  term  ‘memory’  alto- 
gether, and  to  speak  only  of  recognition.  But  ‘ memory,’  like  the 
phrase  ‘association  of  ideas,’  has  been  employed  by  psychology 
for  so  many  centuries,  and  is  rooted  so  deeply  in  popular  thinking, 
that  we  can  do  no  more,  at  present,  than  give  a psychological 
analysis  of  it,  and  emphasise  the  fact  that  it  is  not  a specific  mental 
process  or  mental  faculty. 

§ 79.  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Imagination.  — Psy- 
chologists distinguish  two  forms  of  imagination : the 
reproductive  or  passive,  and  the  productive,  active  or 
constructive. 

(1)  Reproductive  Imagination.  — No  idea  can  enter  the 
adult  consciousness  for  the  first  time  without  being  in  some 
way  supplemented.  There  must  be  part-processes  in  it 
which,  as  constituents  of  other  ideas,  have  formed  habits 
of  connection.  We  speak  of  reproductive  imagination 
in  cases  where  the  supplementing  of  a new  idea  is  a re- 
productive supplementing,  a supplementing  in  kind.  I 
read  a traveller’s  description  of  an  African  forest,  and 
picture  the  forest  as  I read ; or  I receive  the  score  of  a 
new  opera,  and  the  music  sings  itself  to  me  as  I run  my 
eye  over  the  printed  notes.  The  visual  ideas  of  the  forest 
are  derived  from  the  memories  of  forests  which  I have 
actually  seen  ; and  the  auditory  ideas  are  #aroused  because 


§ 79-  The  Nature  and  Forms  of  Imagination  283 

the  printed  notes  have,  from  past  experience,  definite  con- 
nections with  musical  sounds.  But  the  total  experience  is 
neither  a memory  nor  a recognition.  I have  neither  seen 
the  forest  nor  heard  the  opera ; and  though  the  reproduc- 
tions have  the  recognitive  mood  attaching  to  them,  the 
central  ideas,  the  printed  pages,  have  not. 

Imaginations  of  this  kind  are  only  possible  in  consciousnesses 
whose  corresponding  memories  are  in  part  reproductive.  If  my 
reproductive  memory  is  exclusively  auditory,  I cannot  picture  the 
African  forest,  though  I can  imagine  its  mysterious  noises.  If  my 
reproductive  memory  is  exclusively  visual,  I cannot  imagine  how 
the  opera  sounds. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  memory-ideas,  especially  if  they  are  ver- 
bal, may  have  among  their  supplements  reproductive  ideas  which 
are  really  imaginative,  though  introspection  would  regard  them  as 
true  memories.  When  I say  ‘ I heard  Patti  sing  twenty  years  ago,’ 
the  form  of  words  may  be  all  that  I remember.  But  as  I think  or 
utter  the  words,  they  arouse  in  my  mind  ideas  of  a stage,  of  the 
singer,  etc.,  so  that  there  is  every  appearance  of  a visual  memory. 
The  visual  ideas  in  this  case  are  not  reproductions  of  the  original 
scene ; they  are  a new  construction  of  it,  suggested  by  the  words. 
It  is  impossible  to  distinguish  this  ‘ secondary  reproductive  mem- 
ory ’ from  the  true  reproductive  memory,  unless  we  can  compare 
our  ideas  with  a more  trustworthy  account  of  the  event  remem- 
bered. Thus  I may  be  sure,  from  ‘ memory,’  that  the  singer  wore 
a pink  dress  when  I heard  her.  The  form  of  words  has  somehow 
become  connected  in  consciousness  with  the  reproductive  idea  of 
a pink  dress,  and  the  whole  complex  brings  the  recognitive  mood 
with  it.  My  neighbour,  however,  has  positive  evidence  that  the 
dress  was  white,  and  not  pink.  I have  imagined  the  pink,  then  ; 
although  from  the  point  of  view  of  introspection,  the  experience 
is  a memory. 

(2)  Constructive  Imagination.  — The  processes  which  we 
have  so  far  discussed  in  this  chapter,  — recognition,  mem- 


284  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

ory  and  reproductive  imagination,  — are  all,  so  far  as  they 
are  composed  of  ideas,  instances  of  simultaneous  association. 
We  may  have  recognition  at  different  levels  of  definiteness, 
in  one  experience  ; as  in  the  illustration  ‘ University  man  ’ 
(indefinite  recognition),  ‘ Smith  ’ (less  indefinite),  ‘ that 
Smith  ’ (definite  recognition).  This  whole  process  may 
be  described  as  a successive  association  ; and  as  each  of 
its  three  terms  is  accompanied  by  the  recognitive  mood,  it 
is  tempting  to  speak  of  it  as  a process  of  recognition,  and 
so  to  make  recognition  itself  a successive  association.  But 
as  a master  of  fact,  the  experience  contains  three  succes- 
sive recognitions,  each  of  which  is  complete  in  itself.  — 
We  may  have,  in  the  same  way,  a train  of  memory-ideas : 
but  ‘ a ’ memory  is  a simultaneous  association.  The  same 
thing  holds  of  reproductive  imagination. 

In  constructive  imagination,  on  the  other  hand,  we  have 
an  instance  of  successive  association,  — of  association  after 
disjunction.  Some  of  the  ideas  associated  may  be  central 
and  some  peripheral,  or  all  alike  of  central  origin. 

Thus  suppose  that  a poet  desires  to  give  a description  of 
a storm  at  sea.  He  has  a mass  of  memory-ideas  and  of 
reproductive  imaginations  in  consciousness.  His  attention 
turns  from  one  to  another  of  these,  selecting  the  striking 
incidents,  and  rejecting  those  of  minor  importance.  Now 
it  may  happen  that  a severe  thunderstorm  comes  within 
his  actual  experience.  The  presented  ideas  are  taken  into 
consciousness,  and  worked  over  by  the  attention  along 
with  the  rest.  The  poem  is  written  after  the  moving  in- 
cidents have  been  detached  from  their  settings,  and  reas- 
sociated by  the  attention. 

The  result  of  imagination  here  is  a poem,  a series  of 
successive  verbal  associations  (judgments).  Had  we  taken 


§ 8o.  Illusions  of  Recognition  and  Memory  285 

the  inventor,  in  place  of  the  poet,  for  an  illustration,  we 
should  have  had  as  the  result  of  imagination  some  machine 
or  instrument.  This  is  a closer  copy  of  the  associations 
found  within  the  imaginative  consciousness  than  the  poem 
could  be ; the  poem  is  a translation  of  the  imaginative 
ideas,  standing  to  them  as  a verbal  description  of  the  in- 
strument stands  to  the  designer’s  imagination  of  it.  The 
process  of  imagination,  however,  is  the  same  in  both  cases  : 
it  is  a ‘ thinking  ’ or  judging  not  in  words,  but  in  reproduct- 
ive ideas. 

Psychologically,  then,  there  is  no  difference  between 
the  ‘imagination’  of  the  poet  and  the  ‘thought’  of  the 
inventor.  Both  consciousnesses  alike  are  composed  pre- 
dominantly of  reproductive  ideas.  The  only  difference  is 
in  the  material  (printed  words  or  bits  of  metal)  which 
expresses  the  associations  found  among  them. 

§ 80.  Illusions  of  Recognition  and  Memory.  — - Illusory 
memories  and  recognitions  are  of  two  kinds:  we  may  re- 
member or  recognise  something  which  is  really  unfamiliar 
to  us,  and  we  may  fail  to  recognise  or  remember  some- 
thing which  was  once  familiar.  Both  types  of  illusion 
are  quite  common. 

Most  people  have  had  experience  of  what  is  called  para- 
mnesia, — a ‘feeling’  that  ‘this  has  all  happened  before,’ 
which  continues  in  spite  of  the  knowledge  that  the  experi- 
ence is  novel.  Various  explanations  have  been  offered  of 
the  phenomenon.  The  simplest  appears  to  be  the  follow- 
ing. Certain  part-processes  of  the  novel  experience  are  in- 
definitely recognised  ; they  are  vaguely  supplemented,  and 
evoke  the  recognitive  mood.  The  vague  supplementary 
ideas  are  checked,  forced  out  of  consciousness,  by  the 
knowledge  that  the  situation  has  not  occurred  in  previous 


286  Recognition,  Memory  and  Imagination 

experience  ; but  the  verbal  supplement  ‘ familiar  ’ still  per- 
sists, and  carries  with  it  the  mood  of  ‘ at  home.’ 

On  the  other  hand,  we  fail  to  recognise  or  to  remember 
an  impression  or  situation  because  we  have  ‘ forgotten  ’ it ; 
i.e.,  because  its  connections  with  other  ideas,  at  the  time 
of  its  presentation,  were  not  often  enough  repeated,  did 
not  attract  the  attention,  did  not  fit  in  with  our  mental 
constitution,  etc.  (§  55).  We  do  not  remember  the  events  of 
our  early  childhood,  partly  because  our  mental  constitu- 
tion was  of  the  ‘scatter-brained’  type,  and  no  impression 
held  the  attention  for  any  long  time  or  with  any  degree 
of  power,  but  more  especially  because  they  occurred  before 
we  had  learned  to  speak  fluently,  i.e.,  before  they  could  be 
fixed  in  our  minds  by  verbal  association,  and  so  constantly 
repeated  in  verbal  form. 


CHAPTER  XII 


Self-consciousness  and  Intellection 

§ 8 i.  Self-consciousness. — A ‘self,’  in  the  psychological 
meaning  of  the  term,  is  a mind ; the  mind  which  is  given 
together  with  an  individual  body,  and  whose  constitution 
is  determined  by  that  body.  My  ‘ self  ’ is  the  sum  total 
of'  conscious  processes  which  run  their  course  under  the 
conditions  laid  down  by  my  bodily  tendencies.  Selfhood, 
that  is,  is  the  special  and  peculiar  way  in  which  the 
processes  of  an  individual  mind  are  arranged,  in  which 
they  hold  together  or  break  apart,  follow  or  accompany 
one  another.  The  meaning  of  ‘ self  ’ includes  the  mean- 
ings of  ‘mind’  and  of  ‘mental  constitution,’  and  at  the 
same  time  makes  these  meanings  very  definite : the 
‘ mind  ’ is  thought  of  as  consisting  not  merely  of  ‘ ideas,’ 
‘feelings,’  etc.,  but  of  these  ideas  and  those  feelings;  and 
the  ‘ mental  constitution  ’ is  thought  of  not  as  a general 
‘reasonableness’  or  ‘sanguineness,’  but  as  the  familiar 
and  especial  reasonableness  or  sanguineness  of  a partic- 
ular man. 

It  is  the  combination  of  these  two  meanings  in  the 
same  word  that  makes  it  possible  for  us  to  say  that  every 
individual  is  a different  self.  The  raw  materials  of  all 
normal  minds  are  the  same : a certain  limited  number  of 
sensations  and  affections.  Regarded  as  minds,  then,  all 
normal  minds  are  alike.  But  regarded  as  selves,  they 

287 


288  Self-Consciousness  and  Intellection 

differ  in  two  ways.  In  the  first  place,  no  two  mental 
constitutions  are  precisely  similar ; the  ‘ shape  ’ of  one 
man’s  mind  (§  35)  is  never  exactly  like  his  neighbour’s. 
And  secondly,  though  two  men  may  be  so  far  alike 
mentally  that  we  are  obliged  to  speak  of  their  mental  con- 
stitutions as  the  same,  — although  the  bodily  moulds  in 
which  their  mental  experience  is  run  are  so  far  similar 
that  we  speak  of  both  their  memories  as  ‘ logical  ’ and 
both  their  temperaments  as  ‘phlegmatic,’  — yet  the  con- 
crete processes  of  which  their  minds  are  made  up  are 
dissimilar.  The  fact  that  they  are  born  at  different 
times,  or  brought  up  in  different  homes,  is  enough  to 
give  the  stamp  of  individuality  to  the  groupings  of  sen- 
sations and  affections  of  which  their  consciousnesses  are 
composed. 

My  ‘ self,’  then,  is  my  mind  conceived  of  as  working  in 
my  way.  A self-consciousness  is  a consciousness  in  which 
the  idea  of  such  a psychological  self  occupies  the  princi- 
pal place,  — is,  as  it  were,  the  centre  of  interest  to  which  all 
the  other  components  of  that  consciousness  are  referred, 
and  from  which  they  receive  a special  significance.  The 
problem  which  self-consciousness  sets  us  is,  therefore, 
twofold:  How  does  one  come  to  have  an  idea  of  one’s 
own  mind,  and  of  the  way  in  which  its  workings  differ 
from  those  of  other  minds?  And  of  what  part-processes 
is  the  idea  of  self,  as  it  appears  in  the  normal  conscious- 
ness, ordinarily  composed  ? 

The  second  question  is  the  easier  of  the  two  to  answer. 
There  are  certain  mental  processes  which  come  to  the 
forefront  of  consciousness  whenever  I think  of  myself, 
which  are  the  invariable  constituents  of  a self-conscious- 
ness. These  processes  are  common,  organic  and  cutaneous 


§ 8 1 . Self-Consciousness 


2S9 


sensations  (pressures,  pains,  temperatures,  strains,  respir- 
atory sensations,  etc.) ; the  visual  picture  of  my  body,  in 
some  characteristic  attitude  and  dress ; and  the  verbal 
idea  of  ‘ I ’ or  ‘ my.’  The  reason  for  the  prominence  of 
these  processes  is  not  far  to  seek.  The  organic  sensations 
remain,  for  the  most  part,  practically  unchanged,  through- 
out the  life  of  the  organism,  neither  advancing  nor  degen- 
erating. Very  few  of  them  rise  to  the  level  of  ideas  (§  51); 
they  are  not  a medium  of  communication,  as  sights  and 
sounds  are ; they  are  able  to  attract  the  attention  more 
exclusively  than  is  usual  among  sensations,  — in  other 
words,  they  have  an  unusually  strong  affective  tone,  and 
so  are  liable  to  be  swamped  in  feelings  (§  56);  they  are 
‘subjective’  processes,  not  representative  of  objects  or 
processes  of  the  world  outside  our  own  body.  The  visual 
picture  of  the  body  or  of  parts  of  it  is,  also,  always  with 
us ; we  cannot  escape  from  it.  And  ‘ I ’ or  ‘ my  ’ is  the 
verbal  associate  of  both  these  sets  of  processes. 

The  remaining  contents  of  the  idea  of  self  may  vary  within 
wide  limits.  Thus  the  idea  may  be  that  of  the  total  self,  or  of 
some  partial  self,  my  national,  social  or  professional  self,  or  my 
moral,  religious  or  scientific  self.  Each  of  these  ideas  will  con- 
tain a different  group  of  reproductions,  or  a different  set  of  verbal 
supplements  ; though  the  core  of  all  — the  essential  components 
of  the  idea  of  self  — remains  the  same. 

The  idea  of  self  is  rendered  exceedingly  stable  by  the  constant 
repetition  of  the  connections  among  its  components.  It  is  further 
cemented,  welded  together,  by  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness. 
Those  who  can  recall  the  dawning  of  self-consciousness  in  their 
own  life  assert  that  the  experience  has  its  root  in  an  intense  pain 
(common  sensation  and  unpleasantness)  or  an  intense  pleasure. 
And  in  the  adult  life,  the  self-idea,  except  when  called  up  for 
purposes  of  psychological  or  philosophical  examination,  is  hardly 


u 


290  Self-Consciousness  and  Intellection 

ever  indifferent.  It  is  often  coloured  by  a strongly  affective  senti- 
ment; perhaps  by  vanity  or  pride  (pleasant),  perhaps  by  shame 
or  remorse  (unpleasant),  — according  to  the  circumstances  under 
which  it  appears.  Otherwise,  it  rests  upon  a background  of  affect- 
ive temperament : one  thinks  of  oneself  with  self-satisfaction 
or  self-depreciation.  In  popular  parlance,  ‘ self-consciousness  ’ 
denotes  a temperament  of  this  kind,  a conceited  or  bashful  dis- 
position. 

The  idea  of  self  is  plainly  not  an  idea  in  the  precise  sense  in 
which  we  defined  that  term  (§  51).  It  is  rather  a complex  of 
ideas  and  sensations  ; a simultaneous  association,  any  part  of  which 
can  be  brought  into  prominence  by  the  attention.  Its  complexity 
is  shown  by  the  fact  that  we  speak  of  a self  ‘ consciousness  ’ as 
well  as  of  the ‘idea ’of  self.  Nevertheless,  the  close  connection 
of  its  components,  and  its  singleness  of  meaning,  lead  us  to  term 
it  an  ‘ idea.’ 

Complexes  of  this  sort  are  sometimes  called  aggregate  ideas. 
We  have  already  had  illustrations  of  the  part  played  by  aggregate 
ideas  in  the  mental  life  : the  complexes  which  are  disjoined  by 
the  attention  in  judgment  and  constructive  imagination  are  aggre- 
gate ideas. 

At  this  point  we  are  met  by  a new  difficulty.  An  idea 
is,  by  definition,  the  conscious  representative  of  an  object 
or  process  of  the  physical  world.  Surely,  then,  our  ter- 
minology is  wrong ; for  the  ‘ idea  of  self  ’ seems  to  be 
the  idea  of  our  inside  world.  Apparently,  we  must  either 
give  up  our  definition  or  admit  that  the  ‘ idea  ’ of  self  is 
not  an  idea  at  all. 

We  may,  however,  find  a means  of  escape  from  this 
dilemma  by  attempting  to  solve  the  first  of  the  two  prob- 
lems set  us  by  self-consciousness  : How  do  we  come  to 
have  the  ‘ self-idea  ’ at  all  ? If  we  can  discover  the  way 
in  which  this  complex  is  put  together,  our  explanation 


§ 8 1 . Self-Consciousness 


291 


may  help  us  to  decide  whether  there  is  any  justification 
for  calling  it  an  ‘ idea  ’ or  not.  We  pass,  then,  to  the 
first  of  our  two  questions. 

How  do  we  come  to  have  an  idea  of  our  ‘self’? 
— We  must  remember  that  the  individual  human  being 
is  born  into  a society,  and  passes  his  life  in  a society. 
We  obtain  an  idea  of  our  mental  constitution  by  noticing 
the  differences  that  exist  between  those  about  us,  and  by 
hearing  from  them  how  they  look  upon  us  (§  35).  In 
the  same  way,  we  obtain  an  idea  of  our  self,  in  the  first 
instance,  from  parents,  teachers  and  companions.  From 
the  time  when  we  begin  to  understand  the  words  spoken 
in  our  hearing,  we  are  familiar  with  the  term  ‘mind,’  with 
the  fact  that  minds  differ,  and  with  the  use  of  personal 
names  or  pronouns  to  denote  the  different  persons  to 
whom  these  minds  are  ascribed.  Under  these  conditions, 
it  is  possible  to  ‘objectify’  oneself,  to  imagine  how  one 
looks,  thinks,  acts,  etc.,  as  if  the  self  were  really  some- 
thing apart,  something  of  the  same  kind  as  the  objects  or 
processes  of  one’s  physical  surroundings.  When  we  have 
an  idea  of  self,  the  self  is,  so  to  speak,  projected  outwards 
into  the  world,  and  there  surveyed.  The  idea  of  the 
internal  world  is  projected  into  the  external  world,  and 
only  thus  does  it  become  an  idea. 

We  have  a parallel  to  this  process  of  objectifying  or  projection 
not  only  in  the  idea  of  mental  constitution,  but  also  in  that  of 
affection  (ef  §§  33,  59). 

We  said  that  the  solitary  botanist  of  § 35  would  never  know 
that  he  had  a leaning  to  the  study  of  plants,  that  there  was  any 
difference  between  ‘ human  consciousness  ’ and  ‘ botanist’s  con- 
sciousness.’ He  would  never  form  an  idea  of  mental  constitution. 
He  might,  however,  — and  this  is  implied  in  the  use  of  the  phrase 


292  Self-Consciousness  and  Intellection 

‘ human  consciousness  ’ in  that  Section,  — form  some  sort  of  idea 
of  himself.  Although  he  is  not  in  the  company  of  other  human 
beings,  he  is  in  that  of  animals.  And  we  find  that  primitive  man 
looks  upon  his  whole  environment  as  man-like  ; that  he  anthro- 
pomorphises,  i.e.,  makes  men  of,  not  only  his  fellow-men,  but 
animals,  plants  and  inanimate  objects  as  well. 

The  question  how  the  idea  of  self  first  took  shape,  how  it  arose 
in  primitive  society,  is  one  for  the  anthropological  psychologist 
(§5)  to  answer.  It  is  evidently  a different  question  from  that 
which  we  have  attempted  to  answer  in  the  text.  The  child  born 
into  a civilised  society,  finds  the  idea  of  self  ready-made,  in  the 
minds  of  his  elders,  and  accepts  it  from  them.  Our  chief  concern 
is  with  the  adult  normal  consciousness  of  civilised  man,  and  it 
would  take  us  too  far  from  our  topic  if  we  should  try  to  show  in 
detail  how  the  idea  of  self  first  arose.  We  may,  however,  note 
roughly  the  stages  in  its  formation. 

The  individual  in  a primitive  society  is,  as  a rule,  too  closely 
connected  with  his  family  or  clansmen  to  form  a very  clear  idea 
of  his  individual  self.  But  he  is,  and  he  is  looked  upon  as  an  in- 
dependent centre  or  source  of  action.  He  boasts  of  his  prowess, 
and  his  fellows  praise  him ; the  tribe  wants  food,  and  he  has  his 
own  place  in  the  tribal  hunt  or  raid  ; he  is  skilled  in  some  special 
handicraft,  and  the  rest  resort  to  him  to  supply  them  with  its  prod- 
ucts. Last,  but  not  least,  he  is  named ; he  has,  perhaps,  a title 
descriptive  of  his  courage  or  skill,  or  derived  from  some  striking 
event  in  his  life,  — a nickname,  — in  addition  to  his  tribal  name. 
All  these  incidents  are,  as  mental  experiences,  strongly  affective. 
They  give  us  the  materials  for  the  formation  of  a professional  or 
social  self-idea ; and  it  is  only  a matter  of  time  for  this  to  be  re- 
fined to  the  idea  of  the  individual  self.  Each  man  is  a self ; his 
selfhood  is  brought  home  to  him,  sooner  or  later,  as  he  mixes  with 
his  fellow-men  or  struggles  with  natural  forces,  and  the  self-idea, 
once  formed,  is  confirmed,  as  it  were  soldered  together  into  an 
indissoluble  whole,  by  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness. 

We  may  recall  here  the  statement  of  § 36  that  “ belief  in  the 
activity  or  spontaneity  of  mind  is  almost  universal.”  What  has 


§ 82.  Intellection 


293 


just  been  said  helps  us  to  understand  the  persistence  of  this  belief ; 
it  is  as  old  as  man,  a belief  ingrained  in  humanity.  Indeed,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  if  we  were  called  upon  to  define  the  ‘ I ’ 
which  is  the  verbal  expression  of  our  idea  of  self,  to  say  what  we 
mean  by  it  in  ordinary  conversation,  we  should  have  to  confess  that 
we  think,  not  of  the  peculiar  way  in  which  our  mental  experience 
hangs  together,  but  of  a thing,  a permanent  and  active  something 
which  lives  within  our  body  and  directs  its  movements.  Yet  in- 
trospection reveals  no  trace  of  this  ‘ thing  ’ ; and  introspection  is 
more  worthy  of  credence  than  is  an  unreasoned  belief.  Fortu- 
nately, we  need  not  let  ourselves  be  misled,  as  psychologists,  by 
habits  of  thought  and  forms  of  expression.  The  astronomer  speaks 
of  a ‘ sunset,’  just  as  if  he  were  ignorant  of  astronomy  ; but  his  con- 
formity to  custom  does  not  interfere  with  his  having  an  accurate 
knowledge  of  the  true  nature  of  the  phenomenon.  Similarly  in 
general  conversation,  we  may  continue  to  use  the  words  ‘ I ’ and 
‘ self’  in  their  ordinary  meaning ; but  as  psychologists  we  must  put 
a different  interpretation  upon  them. 

§ 82.  Intellection.  — The  psychology  of  sensation  and 
its  derivatives  is  often  spoken  of  as  the  psychology  of  the 
‘ intellect.’  We  have  been  dealing  with  the  intellect,  then, 
in  our  discussions  of  sensation,  of  perception  or  idea,  of 
the  association  of  ideas,  of  memory  and  imagination,  and 
of  the  idea  of  self. 

The  word  ‘ intellection  ’ is  used  in  a narrower  sense,  to 
cover  certain  intellectual  processes,  certain  associations  and 
the  formation  of  certain  ideas,  which  make  their  appearance 
in  consciousness  only  at  an  advanced  stage  of  mental  devel- 
opment. The  most  elementary  form  of  intellection,  in  this 
meaning  of  the  term,  is  judgment  (§  54).  Other  intel- 
lectual processes,  which  we  have  not  yet  discussed,  are 
conception  or  the  formation  of  concepts,  and  reasoning  or 
relating.  Further,  all  intellection  involves  two  processes, 
which  we  have  described,  but  not  described  under  their 


294  Self-Consciousness  and  Intellection 

special  names : comparison  or  discrimination,  and  abstrac- 
tion. 

The  older  psychology,  from  which  we  have  received  the  terms 
‘association,’  ‘memory,’  etc.,  divided  the  discussion  of  mind  into 
three  great  chapters,  which  it  entitled  Intellect,  Feeling  and  Will, 
and  looked  upon  each  of  these  chapters  as  concerned  with  a 
mental  faculty  or  power.  Intellect  was  the  power  to  understand ; 
will  the  power  to  choose,  act,  etc.  Modern  psychology  has  kept 
the  three  terms,  but  uses  them  merely  for  purposes  of  classifica- 
tion. Thus  intellect  embraces  all  those  processes  enumerated 
above  ; feeling  covers  affection,  feeling,  emotion,  mood,  passion, 
temperament,  sentiment;  will  includes  conation,  attention,  volun- 
tary action. 

The  ‘ faculty  psychology  ’ may  very  well  be  compared  with  the 
older  ‘ vitalistic  ’ physiology.  The  older  physiologists  believed  in 
a special  vital  force  or  power,  — the  power  of  living.  When  a 
wound  healed,  it  was  supposed  to  heal  because  the  organism  pos- 
sessed enough  of  this  vital  force  to  resist  the  injury.  We  should 
say  to-day  that  life  is  the  general  name  for  a number  of  com- 
plicated physical  and  chemical  processes,  not  an  added  principle, 
a mysterious  something  over  and  above  them.  Similarly,  we  no 
longer  think  of  mind  as  something  apart  from  mental  processes, 
and  of  intellect,  feeling  and  will  as  faculties  with  which  this  some- 
thing is  endowed.<JVIind  is  a sum  of  mental  processes ; and  intel- 
lect, feeling  and  will  are  subdivisions  of  mind,  special  groups  of  the 

processes  contained  in  the  sum.,.' 

• 

§ 83.  The  Formation  of  Concepts.  — We  have  seen  that 
the  typical  memory-idea  is  a reproduction  of  a previous, 
peripherally  aroused  idea ; but  that  it  is  inevitable,  as  time 
goes  on,  that  the  reproduction  should  cease  to  be  entirely 
accurate.  In  the  first  place,  lapse  of  time  blurs  the  out- 
lines and  obscures  the  qualities  of  the  reproduction ; and, 
secondly,  mental  experience  is  so  complex  that  the  con- 
stituents of  every  idea  will  have  formed  connections,  more 


§ 83-  The  Formation  of  Concepts  295 

or  less  numerous,  with  the  constituents  of  other  ideas.  If 
I had  seen  a cat  for  the  first  time  ten  years  ago,  and 
had  never  seen  another,  my  present  memory  of  the  animal 
would  not  be  very  trustworthy  : the  image  would  have  faded, 
the  reproductive  supplements  of  the  word  ‘ cat  ’ would 
have  grown  indefinite.  As  it  is,  I see  hundreds  of  cats  in 
ten  years ; so  that  my  mental  picture  of  that  particular  cat 

— unless  the  animal  had  certain  very  striking  character- 
istics— is  not  a true  memory  at  all,  but  a reproductive 
imagination. 

It  is  clear  that,  other  things  equal,  a blurred  reproduc- 
tion will  be  more  often  aroused  by  a present  idea  than 
a very  definite  reproduction  would  be.  When  I see  a lion- 
cub,  I am  at  once  reminded  of  a cat ; the  reproductive  idea 
of  ‘ cat  ’ is  vague  enough  to  be  called  up  by  the  present 
idea  of  the  cub.  If  the  reproductive  cat-idea  had  been 
photographically  accurate,  the  chances  of  its  recall  would 
have  been  much  less.  Differences  of  colour,  of  form,  of 
attitude,  of  precision  of  movement,  etc.,  might  well  have 
sufficed  to  prevent  the  formation  of  the  connection  lion- 
cub — -cat. 

A reproductive  idea  of  this  kind,  a blurred  reproduction, 
which  is  liable  to  be  recalled  by  a large  number  of  differ- 
ent ideas,  peripherally  aroused,  is  called  in  psychology  an 
abstract  idea.  It  has  been  compared  to  what  is  termed  a 
‘ composite  photograph.’  If  we  wish  to  get  a typical  face, 

— the  typical  face  of  a statesman,  or  a soldier,  or  a stu- 
dent, or  a consumptive,  or  a dement,  — we  photograph  a 
number  of  individual  faces  upon  the  same  sensitive  plate. 
Thus  the  composite  photograph  of  ten  students  would  be 
obtained  by  photographing  each  in  turn  upon  the  same 
plate,  giving  him  one-tenth  of  the  normal  exposure-time 


296  Self -Consciousness  and  Intellection 

required  by  the  plate.  As  a result,  we  obtain  a picture  in 
which  the  resemblances  are  emphasised  and  the  differences 
slurred.  The  abstract  idea  of  a cat,  on  this  analogy,  is  a 
reproduction  in  which  all  the  cat-resemblances  are  empha- 
sised, and  all  the  cat-differences  left  faint  and  obscure. 

Now  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  abstract  idea  might 
take  this  form  in  an  ‘ all-round  ’ mind,  a mind  which  was 
equally  well  developed  in  all  its  sense  departments.  But 
it  is  not  the  form  which  the  idea  does  take,  as  a matter 
of  fact,  in  the  average  consciousness.  The  photographic 
plate  is  impartial ; it  gives  equal  attention,  so  to  speak,  to 
every  detail  of  the  picture  before  it.  The  organism,  on 
the  contrary,  is  always  biassed ; it  gives  more  attention  to 
some  constituents  of  an  idea  than  to  others.  My  abstract 
idea  of  a cat,  therefore,  is  a composite  photograph  only  of 
those  cat-attributes  which  have  caught  my  attention ; it  is 
more  like  an  impressionist  sketch  of  a cat  — the  sketch  of 
some  particular  artist,  throwing  into  relief  the  particular 
characteristics  which  have  ‘ struck  ’ him  — than  like  a 
composite  photograph  of  some  hundred  cats. 

In  other  and  more  technical  words : the  abstract  idea 
takes  shape  as  the  second  term  in  a large  number  of 
associations  after  disjunction.  A complex  is  presented  : I 
disjoin  it,  by  help  of  the  attention,  — dividing  at  this  or 
that  point,  as  my  mental  constitution  dictates,  — and  then 
rejoin  what  I have  dissociated.  The  abstract  idea  is  made 
up  of  the  common  elements  which  have  attracted  the 
attention  in  a large  number  of  complexes. 

Thus  our  abstract  idea  of  ‘ hotel  ’ (§  54)  is  made  up  of  all  those 
processes  which  represent  what  our  experience  has  taught  us  to 
look  upon  as  the  peculiar  hotel-attributes.  The  idea  will  differ  in 
different  minds,  since  hotel-experiences  differ.  And  our  own 


§ 83.  The  Formation  of  Concepts  297 

abstract  idea  will  vary  as  our  experience  broadens.  — Thus  one 
abstract  idea  may  consist  of  reproductions  of  a monotonous 
regularity  of  structure,  cold,  scant  attendance,  exorbitant  prices  : 
these  will  be  the  elements  which  have  attracted  the  attention  in  a 
large  number  of  residences  at  hotels.  Another  may  consist  of 
reproductions  of  luxurious  furniture,  obsequious  service,  moderate 
charges  : these  will  be  the  part-processes  disjoined  by  the  atten- 
tion from  a number  of  total  hotel-experiences. 

We  defined  an  idea  (§  51)  as  the  conscious  representative  of  a 
single  object  or  process  in  the  outside  world.  The  idea  of  self 
has  already  forced  us  to  modify  our  definition  a little  : that  ‘ idea  ’ 
is,  in  strictness,  a simultaneous  association  of  ideas  and  sensations. 
Nevertheless,  we  found  reasons  for  letting  it  pass  as  an  idea 
(§  81).  The  same  thing  holds  of  the  ^abstract . idea*  It  is  not, 
in  strictness,  an  idea,  but  a complex,  made  up  of  residua  from 
many  ideas  : it  corresponds  not  to  a single  object  or  process,  but 
to  a large  number  of  objects  or  processes  in  the  outside  world. 
Unfortunately,  ‘ idea  ’ is  the  only  term  in  current  use  which  we 
can  employ  to  designate  it.  It  has  been  proposed  to  call  it  a 
‘recept’:  we  perceive  objects,  and  receive  their  salient  features 
into  our  minds.  But  it  is  not  probable  that  this  word  will  oust 
the  phrase  ‘ abstract  idea.’ 

When  an  association  after  disjunction  is  an  association 
of  verbal  ideas,  we  speak  of  it  as  a judgment.  The 
abstract  verbal  idea  is  termed  a concept.  The  concept, 
that  is,  is  the  predicate-word  which  is  predicable  of  a large 
number  of  subject-words.  It  is  the  verbal  link  which 
holds  a number  of  particular  ideas  together. 

Thus  the  ‘ I ’ which  is  one  of  the  ingredients  in  our  aggregate 
idea  of  ‘ self  ’ is  a concept.  The  ‘ I ’ is  the  link,  which  holds 
together  the  various  ideas  of  social  position,  professional  position, 
scientific  attitude,  religious  attitude,  etc.,  contained  in  the  self- 
idea. 


298 


Self-Consciousness  and  Intellection 


There  are  some  abstract  ideas  which  would  be  extremely  vague, 
however  accurate  the  composite  photograph  of  them  in  conscious- 
ness, if  secondary  associations  were  not  employed  to  give  them 
definiteness.  Take,  eg.,  the  idea  of  a minute  of  time  (cf  § 29). 
This  could  be  formed  only  as  a composite  photograph  of  all  the 
events  which  can  happen  or  in  our  experience  have  happened 
within  the  space  of  a minute.  The  photograph  would  be  worthless. 

In  such  cases  we  are  either  content  with  the  word,  the  concept, 
or  have  recourse  to  external  associations.  Thus  the  author’s 
abstract  ideas  of  a minute  and  a second  of  time  — the  reproduc- 
tions which  carry  the  meanings  of  ‘ minute  ’ and  ‘ second  ’ when 

the  words  themselves  are  not  em- 
ployed — are  represented  in  the 
accompanying  Figure.  The  visual 
form  a,  which  is  the  minute  idea, 
is  plainly  a blurred  reminiscence  of 
the  seconds’  dial  of  a watch  or 
clock ; and  the  form  b,  which  rep- 
resents the  second,  is  the  picture 
of  one  of  the  division-marks  upon  the  circumference  of  the  dial. 
In  this  case,  an  experience  in  early  childhood  has  determined  the 
form  of  the  abstract  idea  for  the  rest  of  life.  The  sign  for  a 
‘second  of  arc’  ("),  learned  later  than  the  form  of  the  watch- 
dial,  has  not  been  able  to  change  the  single  stroke,  which  first 
meant  a second,  into  two  strokes. 

There  is  no  lack  of  experiments  to  show  that  the  concept,  the 
verbal  associate  of  the  abstract  idea,  is  the  most  prompt  and 
ready  supplement  of  a given  impression.  We  have  no  doubt  that 
a particular  impression  is  a ‘ sound  ’ ; but  we  may  be  very  doubt- 
ful as  to  its  exact  nature.  We  have  no  doubt  that  two  given 
impressions  are  ‘ different  ’ ; but  we  may  be  wholly  unable  to  say 
wherein  their  difference  consists.  We  have  no  doubt  that  a face 
is  ‘ familiar  ’to  us ; but  we  may  be  completely  at  a loss  to  de- 
scribe the  circumstances  under  which  it  became  familiar. 

Method.  — Set  down  the  points  of  a pair  of  drawing  compasses 
upon  the  skin,  as  explained  in  § 44,  starting  from  so  small  a se- 


§ 84.  Reasoning 


299 


paration  of  the  points  that  but  a single  impression  is  sensed. 
Gradually  increase  the  separation,  till  the  two  points  are  distin- 
guishable. You  will  find  at  this  stage  that  though  the  subject  is 
certain  of  the  duality  of  the  impression  (general  concept),  he  is 
entirely  unable  to  state  the  direction  of  the  straight  line  joining 
the  two  points  (more  special  concept).  — In  the  same  way,  cuta- 
neous movement  is  perceived  sooner  than  the  direction  of  the 
movement ; a stimulus  is  cognised  as  a light  stimulus  before  its 
specific  quality  can  be  made  out,  etc. 

Pathology  confirms  our  position,  showing  that  concepts,  which 
are  most  often  associated  to  given  ideas,  are  also  more  firmly 
attached  to  them  than  are  any  other  verbal  supplements.  When 
memory  begins  to  fail,  with  advancing  age,  it  is  the  concrete 
words  which  are  first  forgotten  : personal  names,  particular  names 
of  all  kinds.  Abstract  words,  concepts,  remain  longest  of  all. 
It  is  hardly  possible  to  forget  that  a certain  complex  of  visual 
stimuli  is  a ‘ man  ’ ; it  is  quite  possible  to  forget  that  it  is 
‘ George.’ 

§ 84.  Reasoning.  — Reasoning  is  the  name  given  to  a 
successive  association  of  judgments.  It  is  thus  the  verbal 
counterpart  of  the  reproductive  processes  involved  in  con- 
structive imagination.  As  total  processes,  the  reproduc- 
tive associations  of  the  poet  or  inventor  and  the  verbal 
associations  of  the  scientific  thinker  are  one  and  the  same : 
both  are  a series  of  associations  after  disjunction.  The  dif- 
ference in  the  nature  of  the  constituent  part-processes,  the 
difference  between  reproductive  and  verbal  ideas,  points 
simply  to  a difference  of  mental  constitution. 

In  every  association  two  ideas  are  brought  into  connec- 
tion. When  the  connection  itself  has  become  the  object 
of  attention,  when,  i.e.,  we  have  formed  an  idea  of  connec- 
tion, as  distinct  from  the  ideas  which  are  connected,  we 
speak  of  it  as  relatioji.  Now  reasoning,  like  the  verbal 
simultaneous  association,  and  like  the  judgment,  has  upon 


300  Self-Consciousness  and  Intellection 

it  the  mark  of  completeness,  of  finality.  This  plainly 
means  that  reasoning,  as  defined  above,  is  possible  only 
when  we  have  among  our  available  stock  of  ideas  an  ex- 
plicit idea  of  relation ; for  unless  we  know  a relation  when 
we  see  it,  we  may  lengthen  out  our  series  of  judgments 
indefinitely,  on  the  pattern  of  a train  of  ideas,  and  pass  our 
goal  without  realising  that  we  have  attained  it.  Reason- 
ing, then,  implies  an  idea  of  relation  ; an  idea  which  guides 
us  in  our  argument,  as  the  idea  of  movement  guides  us  in 
the  performance  of  an  action. 

What  are  the  part-processes  contained  in  the  idea  of 
relation  ? And  how  is  the  idea  formed  ? — The  idea  may 
be  reproductive  or  verbal.  In  the  former  case,  it  consists 
of  a picture  of  certain  objects  or  processes  as  somehow 
bound  or  chained  or  clamped  together ; in  the  latter,  sim- 
ply of  the  word  ‘ relation,’  auditory,  visual  or  tactual. 
The  idea  is  formed  very  much  as  the  ideas  of  mind,  self 
and  mental  constitution  are  formed.  We  grow  up  among 
people  who  have  the  idea  of  relation ; who  speak  in  terms 
of  cause  and  effect,  likeness  and  difference,  substance  and 
attribute,  whole  and  part,  etc. 

As  to  the  original  formation  of  the  idea  of  relation,  in  the  past 
history  of  the  human  race,  we  can  do  no  more  than  speculate. 
It  must  be  remembered  (i)  that  the  relation  expressed  in  the 
judgment  is  a relation  of  parts  now  dissociated,  but  originally 
together  in  the  aggregate  idea;  and  (2)  that  primitive  man 
looked  at  everything  from  an  unconsciously  anthropomorphic 
standpoint.  Since  in  judgment  the  part  is  drawn  out  of  the 
whole,  the  attribute  drawn  out  of  the  substance,  the  effect  drawn 
out  of  the  cause,  it  may  be  that  a pictorial  idea  of  connection 
or  relation  took  shape  at  a very  early  stage  of  thought.  What 
a man  makes  or  does  ‘ belongs  ’ to  him ; that  is,  his  mind 
lengthens  out  to  it,  holds  to  it,  as  if  by  a physical  bond.  If  the 


§ 85-  Comparison  or  Discrimination,  and  Abstraction  301 

clouds  are  looked  on  as  men  who  make  the  rain,  the  sun  as  a man 
who  makes  the  rainbow,  etc.,  this  idea  of  belonging,  of  being  con- 
nected, might  easily  assume  definite  form.  From  the  reproductive 
or  pictorial  idea  to  the  verbal,  and  from  the  more  concrete  to  the 
more  abstract  verbal  idea,  are  steps  of  no  difficulty. 

We  have  indications  of  the  pictorial  origin  of  the  idea  in  the 
word  ‘connection’  (Lat.  nectere,  to  bind),  and  in  the  German 
‘Beziehung’  ( ziehen ; cf.  ‘tie’)  and  ‘ Verhaltniss  ’ (flatten ; cf. 
‘hold’).  ‘Relation’  suggests  to  us  that  the  association  is  an 
association  after  disjunction  ( re-ferre,  to  put  back  again).  ‘ Asso- 
ciation ’ itself  emphasises  the  after , the  temporal  position  of  that 
which  is  associated  ( ad-socius , from  sequor,  I follow) . 

§ 85.  Comparison  or  Discrimination,  and  Abstraction.  — 

We  speak  of  a comparison  of  two  impressions  when  the 
ideas  which  they  arouse  in  consciousness  call  up  the 
verbal  associate  ‘alike’  or  ‘different.’  Discrimination  is 
used,  in  strictness,  to  express  the  process  which  termi- 
nates with  the  verbal  association  ‘ different,’  but  its  mean- 
ing has  been  extended  to  include  judgments  of  likeness  as 
well ; so  that  it  is  used  synonymously  with  comparison. 

We  have  in  this  process  of  comparison  or  discrimination, 
then,  a case  of  verbal  association.  Sometimes  the  associa- 
tion is  simultaneous ; the  word  ‘ comes  up,’  and  com- 
parison is  at  an  end.  Sometimes  the  association  is  succes- 
sive, the  impression  being  judged  part  by  part,  and  the 
word  coming  only  after  a series  of  judgments  has  been 
passed.  Under  normal  circumstances,  every  comparison 
which  leads  to  the  judgment  ‘ like  ’ is  accompanied  by 
the  recognitive  mood.  A comparison  which  leads  to  the 
judgment  ‘different’  has  no  specific  mood  attaching  to 
it. 


The  process  of  comparison,  as  thus  depicted  in  outline,  is  seen 
to  be  of  a very  simple  kind.  Its  place  in  mental  development, 


302  Self-Consciousness  and  Intellection 

however,  is  a high  one  : for  the  reason  that  it  presupposes  the 
formation  of  the  concepts  of  likeness  and  difference.  Verbal 
association  and  judgment  are,  in  themselves,  comparatively  simple 
processes ; but  when  the  word  associated  or  predicated  is  a fully 
formed  concept,  we  realise  that  the  simplicity  of  form  is  decep- 
tive, that  much  mental  elaboration  lies  behind. 

We  may  compare  two  peripherally  aroused  ideas,  two  central 
ideas,  or  a peripheral  with  a central  idea.  In  the  first  case,  we 
turn  quickly  from  idea  to  idea,  having  in  mind  at  any  given 
moment  the  actual  presentation  of  the  one  and  a direct  reproduc- 
tive image  of  the  other.  In  the  second,  we  have  in  mind,  as  a 
rule,  a verbally  supplemented  reproduction  of  each  of  the  com- 
pared ideas,  and  turn  the  attention  quickly  from  the  one  to  the 
other  as  before.  In  the  third,  we  have  a presentation  on  the  one 
side,  and  some  memory  symbol  (word,  part-reproduction,  etc.) 
on  the  other.  It  seems,  from  laboratory  experience,  that  we 
never  attempt  to  compare  a presented  idea  with  a complete 
reproductive  picture  of  another ; distrust  of  the  reproduction 
appears  to  have  become  ‘ instinctive  ’ with  us. 

It  might  be  thought  that  as  the  mood  of  ‘ at  home  ’ attaches  to 
the  judgment  of  likeness,  a mood  of  strangeness  would  attach  to 
the  judgment  of  difference.  But  we  must  be  careful  not  to  con- 
fuse ‘ difference  ’ with  ‘ lack  of  familiarity.’  If  an  event  is  differ- 
ent from  what  we  expected  it  to  be,  we  do  have  a mood  of 
apprehension  or  disappointment,  a mood  which  in  its  weakest 
form  could  best  be  described  as  that  of  ‘ strangeness.’  But  many 
differences  are  natural,  matters  of  course  ; these  leave  us  indiffer- 
ent. And  others  are  desired  and  looked  for,  so  that  their  dis- 
covery puts  us  into  a pleasurable  mood,  that  of  wish  fulfilled. 
The  finding  of  a likeness  is  always,  intrinsically,  reassuring,  and 
therefore  pleasant  ( c f.  what  was  said  of  recognition,  § 70).  On 
occasion,  of  course,  it  may  be  unpleasant.  If  we  are  comparing 
two  molluscs,  in  the  hope  that  one  of  them  represents  a hitherto 
unknown  species,  and  both  prove  to  belong  to  the  same,  the 
recognitive  mood  may  be  overcome  by  the  emotion  of  disgust  or 
the  sentiment  of  unsuccessful  thought  (§  90). 


§ 85-  Comparison  or  Discrimination,  and  Abstraction  303 

Abstraction  is  the  name  given  to  that  movement  of  the 
attention  over  a complex  of  ideas,  whereby  the  complex 
is  dissociated,  and  certain  parts  of  it  are  rejoined  in  a 
judgment  or  constructive  imagination.  We  are  said  to 
‘ abstract  from  ’ those  portions  of  the  complex  which  do 
not  arrest  the  attention,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
parts  lifted  out  of  the  whole  by  the  attention  are  termed 
‘ abstractions.’ 

Thus  an  abstract  idea  is  an  idea  in  which  we  abstract  from  the 
unessential  features  of  the  aggregate  idea  from  which  it  is  derived. 
It  is  itself  an  abstraction,  because  it  is  only  a part  of  the  aggre- 
gate idea.  The  mechanism  of  the  process  has  been  described 
above  (§  38). 


CHAPTER  XIII 


Sentiment 

§ 86.  The  Nature  of  Sentiment.  — When  we  were  ana- 
lysing emotion,  we  found  that  its  core  or  centre  is  made 
up  of  a strong  feeling,  by  which  the  current  train  of  ideas 
is  interrupted.  The  organism  has  to  face  a situation.  It 
does  this  by  way  of  passive  attention ; the  situation  over- 
whelms it,  takes  undisputed  possession  of  consciousness. 
At  the  same  time  the  body  falls  into  some  characteristic 
attitude ; a characteristic  group  of  organic  sensations  is 
aroused.  And  the  central  feeling  is  reinforced  by  a num- 
ber of  associated  ideas. 

If  in  our  description  of  this  total  process  we  write 
‘strongly  affective  judgment’  for  ‘strong  feeling,’  we  have 
the  essentials  of  the  sentiment.  A situation  has  to  be 
faced.  It  is  in  this  case  too  complex  to  be  faced  by  way 
of  passive  attention ; the  active  attention  must  play  upon 
it,  and  a judgment  be  passed.  A ‘ situation,’  as  we  have 
seen  (§  59),  is  a serious  matter:  the  judgment  will  be 
strongly  pleasant  or  unpleasant.  In  either  case,  it  is 
reinforced  by  other  judgments,  concepts,  or  reproductive 
ideas;  while  at  the  same  time  expressive  movements  occur, 
and  give  rise  to  organic  sensations. 

The  sentiment,  then,  stands  to  the  emotion  precisely  as 
active  stands  to  passive  attention.  It  is  the  total  affective 

3°4 


§ 86.  The  Nature  of  Sentiment 


305 


experience  which  arises  when  we  face  a situation  by  way 
of  active  attention,  — by  means  of  a judgment. 

It  is  the  situation  — the  materials  disjoined  by  the  attention 
for  re-association  — which  determines  the  affective  quality  of  the 
sentiment,  as  it  ordinarily  (cf.  § 59)  does  that  of  the  emotion. 
Hence  the  sentiment  may  be  either  pleasurable  or  unpleasurable. 
The  process  of  judging  is  also  accompanied  by  affection  : it  will  be 
pleasant  or  unpleasant  according  as  the  effort  involved  in  the 
attention  is  moderate  or  excessive  (§§  37,  38).  Judgment  itself, 
the  completed  re-association,  is  intrinsically  pleasant,  just  as  is 
recognition  or  instinctive  action  (§  70).  But  its  pleasantness  is, 
of  course,  often  swamped  by  the  unpleasantness  of  the  situation. 

Active  attention  frequently  relapses  into  passive.  Hence  it  is 
natural  that  the  sentiment,  which  is  developed  out  of  emotion,  and 
is  characteristic  of  a higher  stage  of  mental  differentiation,  should 
readily  slip  back  into  emotion.  Suppose,  e.g.,  that  I sit  down  to 
read  a story.  At  first,  I have  various  aesthetic  sentiments  : I linger 
over  the  beauty  of  the  style,  or  the  harmony  of  the  incidents.  I 
have,  too,  various  intellectual  sentiments  : I feel  that  the  tale  is 
true  to  life,  that  its  scenes  are  self-consistent.  But  as  I read,  I 
grow  absorbed,  — I cease  to  be  ‘ critical,’  i.e.,  to  be  actively 
attentive.  The  story  takes  possession  of  me,  and  the  writer 
‘ moves  ’ me  as  he  will.  Sentiment  has  been  entirely  replaced 
by  its  simpler  counterpart,  emotion. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  every  affective  experience  which 
can  be  referred  to  a judgment  is  a sentiment.  Many  of  our  judg- 
ments are  not  judgments  at  all  in  the  psychological  sense  ; they 
are  ready-made  formulae,  received  from  others,  not  won  by  any 
exercise  of  the  active  attention  on  our  own  part.  We  are  so 
thoroughly  accustomed  to  throw  our  mental  experience  into  logical 
form,  that  we  may  think  or  speak  of  a situation  as  if  we  had  judged 
it,  when  really  it  has  seized  us,  taken  possession  of  us,  and  been 
‘felt’  as  a whole,  in  an  emotion.  ‘Why  are  you  so  disgusted?’  we 
may  be  asked.  ‘ I am  disgusted  because  I have  been  cheated.’ 
The  answer  is  psychologically  misleading.  It  is  not  the  judgment 
‘ I have  been  cheated  ’ that  forms  the  centre  of  the  emotion  of  dis- 


x 


3°6 


Sentiment 


gust ; it  is  the  feeling  set  up  by  the  situation.  The  judgment  ‘ I 
have  been  cheated  ’ is  due  to  a reflection  upon  the  source  of  the 
emotion ; it  is  the  most  convenient  way  of  conveying  to  the 
enquirer  an  idea  of  the  reason  for  the  emotion.  Here,  then,  it 
is  quite  possible  to  refer  the  whole  experience  to  a judgment;  and 
yet  the  experience  is.  not  a sentiment. 

There  is  no  rule  more  essential,  and  no  rule  more  difficult  to 
follow,  when  one  is  introspectively  examining  a complex  mental 
process,  than  this  : Do  not  let  a judgment  about  the  facts  take  the 
place  of  the  facts  themselves.  It  is  all  too  easy  to  glide  into  a 
series  of  familiar  formulas,  which  give  a rough  notion  of  the  ex- 
perience under  investigation.  The  trained  and  impartial  observer 
(§  io)  will  be  on  his  guard  against  the  temptation,  and  will  arrest 
himself  when  he  finds  that  his  description  is  running  smoothly,  in 
stereotyped  expressions  and  customary  phrases.  Every  fact  re- 
quires its  own  form  of  words,  if  it  is  to  be  adequately  described. 

§ 87.  The  Forms  of  Sentiment.  — There  are  four  great 
classes  of  sentiments : the  intellectual  or  logical,  the  ethi- 
cal or  social,  the  aesthetic  and  the  religious. 

The  intellectual  sentiments  are  the  affective  experiences 
which  grow  up  round  the  judgments  ‘This  is  true’  and 
‘This  is  false,  as  a matter  of  knowledge.’  The  ethical 
sentiments  attach  to  the  judgments  ‘This  is  good  or 
right  ’ and  ‘ This  is  bad  or  wrong,  as  a matter  of  my  be- 
haviour to  my  fellow-men  or  of  theirs  to  me  ’ ; the  (esthetic 
to  the  judgments  ‘This  is  beautiful’  and  ‘This  is  ugly’; 
and  the  religious  to  the  judgments  ‘ This  is  ’ and  ‘ This  is 
not  sanctioned  by  divine  command,  or  in  accordance  with 
the  divine  plan  for  the  government  of  the  universe.’ 

We  cannot  attempt  here  to  trace  the  formation  of  the 
abstract  ideas  of  ‘truth,’  ‘goodness,’  ‘beauty,’  etc.;  we 
must  take  it  for  granted  that  they  have  been  formed, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  ideas  of  ‘self’  and  ‘relation’ 


§ 88.  The  Aesthetic  Sentiments  307 

(§§  81,  84).  Taking  the  concepts  for  granted,  we  can 
see  how  natural  it  is  that  the  intellectual,  moral  and  re- 
ligious judgments  should  be  strongly  affective  processes. 
It  is  of  the  utmost  practical  importance  to  know  whether 
facts  agree  or  do  not  agree  with  our  opinions,  whether 
reports  are  true  or  false,  whether  an  action  is  good  or 
bad,  whether  our  friends  will  regard  our  behaviour,  under 
certain  circumstances,  as  right  or  wrong,  whether  a line 
of  conduct  is  approved  or  disapproved  by  the  supreme 
power  of  the  world.  The  practical  importance  of  the 
aesthetic  judgment  is  not  so  obvious.  Indeed,  the  aes- 
thetic sentiment,  the  power  of  the  beautiful  and  the  ugly 
to  attract  the  attention,  has  always  been  something  of  a 
puzzle  to  psychologists ; and  it  cannot  be  said  that  the 
puzzle  has  even  yet  been  satisfactorily  solved. 

§ 88.  The  ^Esthetic  Sentiments.  — Modern  psychology  has 
devoted  more  attention  to  the  aesthetic  sentiments  than  to 
the  other  three  groups.  This  is  partly  due,  no  doubt,  to  the 
difficulty  which  they  present  to  psychological  analysis ; 
the  intellectual,  ethical  and  religious  sentiments  are  more 
matters  of  course.  But  it  is  also  due,  in  part,  to  the 
fact  that  the  aesthetic  sentiments  can  be  examined  under 
experimental  conditions  and  with  comparatively  simple 
materials. 

It  is  customary  to  distinguish  five  aesthetic  sentiments  : 
those  of  beauty,  ugliness,  the  sublime,  the  comic  and  the 
tragic.  The  two  first  are  of  a purely  aesthetic  character ; 
the  third  may  be  either  mixed  or  pure ; the  two  last  are 
never  wholly  aesthetic  in  nature. 

1.  Under  the  heading  of  ‘beauty’  and  ‘ugliness’  there 
are  five  principal  forms  of  the  aesthetic  judgment : the  judg- 
ment of  visual  form  (architecture,  and  line  in  the  plastic 


3°8 


Sentiment 


and  graphic  arts),  colour  scheme  (colour  in  the  plastic  and 
graphic  arts),  rhythm  (dancing,  musical  form),  harmony 
(music)  and  melody  (music).  We  need  here  speak  only 
of  the  first,  second  and  fourth  of  these  (cf.  §§  47,  48). 

(1)  Visual  figures  present  two  aspects  for  aesthetic 
appreciation : articulation  or  division,  and  contour  or 
outline. 

The  most  pleasing  division  of  a simple  visual  form  was, 
originally,  the  symmetrical  division.  Symmetry  is  repe- 
tition with  reversal : the  two  hands,  two  eyes,  two  halves 
of  a circle,  etc.,  are  symmetrical.  The  proportion  of  parts, 
in  a symmetrical  figure,  is  accordingly  that  of  equality,  1:1. 

At  a higher  level  of  aesthetic  development,  the  symmet- 
rical division  is  replaced  by  what  is  known  as  the  golden 
section : a division  of  the  figure  at  a point  so  chosen  that 
the  dimensions  of  the  whole  are  to  those  of  the  larger  part 
as  the  dimensions  of  the  larger  part  are  to  those  of  the 
smaller.  The  proportion  of  parts  in  a figure  divided  at 
the  golden  section  is,  approximately,  3:5. 

Even  to-day  symmetry  holds  its  own  as  a principle  of  aesthetic 
division.  A great  deal  of  decorative  work  (on  walls,  ceilings, 
porcelain,  etc.)  is  of  the  symmetrical  type.  And  we  see  traces  of 
its  influence  in  the  duplication  which  is  so  common  a feature  of 
graphic  composition.  One  poplar  in  a landscape  looks  ugly  ; two 
make  the  picture  a ‘good  composition.’  So  with  two  cows  in  a 
meadow,  two  human  figures  on  a sea-coast,  etc. 

Method.  — Prepare  long  series  of  simple  geometrical  figures, — 
crosses,  ovals,  rectangles,  etc.,  — varying  the  proportions  little  by 
little  throughout  the  series.  Lay  them  before  the  observer,  and 
let  him  pick  out  the  most  pleasing.  The  first  few  chosen  will  be 
figures  whose  proportions  are  in  the  near  neighbourhood  of  the 
golden  section  ; the  last  will,  in  all  probability,  be  symmetrical 
All  the  rest  will  be  indifferent  or  displeasing. 


§ 88.  The  Asthetic  Sentiments  309 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  eye  is  subject  to  certain  illu- 
sions : vertical  distances,  e.g.,  are  always  overestimated  (§  50). 
Hence  in  deciding  whether  the  subject  has  chosen  a figure  in 
accordance  with  the  rule  of  the  golden  section,  or  of  symmetry, 
the  experimenter  must  make  allowances  for  possible  illusion.  The 
subjective  square  is  not  objectively  symmetrical;  but  it  is  chosen 
because  of  its  subjective  symmetry.  The  amount  of  illusion  in  a 
given  case  can  easily  be  determined  by  a few  preliminary  experi- 
ments. 

As  regards  contours,  not  much  more  can  be  said  than 
that  curved  lines  are,  on  the  whole,  more  pleasing  than 
straight  lines.  The  meeting  of  two  straight  lines  in  a 
right  angle  seems  to  be  particularly  displeasing ; the  eyes 
‘feel’  the  jerk  involved  in  the  abrupt  change  of  direction. 

(2)  Nature  presents  us  with  so  many  and  so  various 
colour  schemes,  and  painting  consists  so  largely  of  an 
imitation  of  nature,  that  it  is  impossible  to  formulate  gen- 
eral principles  of  aesthetic  grouping  in  the  sphere  of  col- 
our. Rules  are  laid  down,  in  practice,  for  the  guidance  of 
the  art-student,  as  they  are  for  the  student  of  musical 
composition.  Thus  we  may  mention  the  rule  of  grada- 
tion : sharp  contrasts  are  to  be  avoided,  — unless,  of 
course,  it  is  the  purpose  of  the  picture  to  bring  them  out, 
— by  the  use  of  intermediate  shades;  the  juxtaposition  of 
complementaries  is  especially  undesirable.  The  principle 
of  compensation  requires  that  a penetrating  colour  be 
balanced  by  a less  penetrating ; a spot  of  vermilion  must 
be  compensated  by  a large  area  of  dull  bluish  green, 
placed  somewhere  in  the  picture  to  ‘ relieve  ’ the  red. 
The  principle  of  duplication  also  holds ; a painting  which 
contains  a large  mass  of  some  particular  colour  is  im- 
proved by  the  introduction  of  a smaller  patch  of  the  same 
colour  in  a different  quarter ; and  so  on.  But  although 


310 


Sentiment 


these  and  similar  rules  are  doubtless  indicative  of  ultimate 
aesthetic  principles,  they  do  not  take  us  very  far  towards 
an  understanding  of  these  latter. 

Writers  upon  colour  decoration,  ornamentation,  recognise  two 
types  of  colour  scheme  : the  dominant 'and  the  contrasted.  The 
dominant  scheme  employs  a single  key-colour,  and  obtains  an 
aesthetic  effect  by  the  arrangement  of  different  ‘ shades  ’ and 
‘tints’  of  this  colour  (mixtures  of  the  pure  with  white  light,  at 
different  intensities  and  in  different  proportions:  § 12).  Thus  if 
red  were  chosen  as  the  key-colour,  the  scheme  would  be  com- 
posed of  red,  and  of  pinks  and  dark  reds.  The  contrasted 
scheme  employs  two  key-colours,  and  interweaves  these  with 
their  shades  and  tints  into  an  aesthetic  whole. 

Method.  — The  most  pleasing  juxtapositions  and  arrangements 
of  colours  could  be  investigated  by  the  help  of  a long  series  of 
coloured  papers.  Strips  must  be  cut,  and  pasted  side  by  side  on 
a constant  background  (black  or  white  cardboard).  It  would 
probably  be  found  that  the  subject,  though  very  sure  of  what  was 
positively  ugly,  would  be  in  considerable  doubt  as  to  the  compara- 
tive beauties  of  the  1 pretty  ’ combinations. 

(3)  The  most  pleasing  musical  harmony  was,  originally, 
that  of  the  octave.  As  the  aesthetic  judgment  developed, 
however,  the  place  of  the  octave  was  taken  by  other,  less 
unitary  tone  mixtures.  To  us  the  octave  sounds  ‘thin’ 
and  ‘poor’ ; the  major  third  (the  union  of  tonic  and  medi- 
ant of  a major  scale)  is  the  harmony  which  brings  with  it 
the  greatest  amount  of  aesthetic  pleasure.  The  octave, 
then,  may  be  compared  to  the  symmetrical  division  of  a 
simple  visual  form,  and  the  major  third  to  its  division  at 
the  golden  section. 

Method.  — Experiments  can  be  made  with  tuning-forks  or 
piano  clangs,  as  described  in  § 49.  The  subject  is  required  to 
judge  of  the  aesthetic  effect  of  the  chords  and  intervals  sounded. 


§ 88.  The  ^Esthetic  Sentiments  31 1 

2.  The  sentiment  of  sublimity  is  more  complex  than 
that  of  beauty  or  ugliness.  It  contains  two  central  judg- 
ments: ‘This  is  beautiful’  and  ‘This  is  great.’  The  total 
experience  may  be  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  according  to 
the  meaning  of  the  second  of  these  judgments.  If  ‘great’ 
means  ‘so  great  that  my  attention  cannot  grasp  it,’  the 
experience  is  unpleasant : the  pleasure  of  beauty  is  over- 
come by  the  unpleasantness  of  the  emotion  of  fear, 
or  the  sentiment  of  awe.  If  ‘great’  means  ‘splendid’ 
or  ‘magnificent,’  the  whole  experience  is  pleasurable; 
the  sentiment  of  beauty  is  simply  enhanced.  Under 
these  circumstances,  the  sublime  is  to  the  beautiful  as 
a ‘handsome’  is  to  a ‘pretty’  face. 

3.  The  sentiments  of  the  ludicrous  and  the  tragic  are 
also  complex.  The  latter  combines  the  judgment  ‘This  is 
beautiful’  with  the  judgment  ‘This  is  undeserved’;  there 
is  a mixture  of  the  aesthetic  sentiment  of  beauty  with  the 
ethical  sentiment  of  injustice.  The  total  experience  may 
be  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  according  as  the  one  or  the 
other  sentiment  predominates.1  — The  pleasurable  effect  of 
a ‘comic’  situation  is  difficult  to  explain.  The  situation 
appears  to  call  forth  the  judgments  ‘This  is  beautiful,’  or 
rather  ‘This  is  pretty, ’and  ‘This  is  contradictory.’  There 
is  a quick  oscillation  of  the  pleasure  of  the  former  and  the 
unpleasantness  of  the  latter  judgment. 

One  is  tempted  to  compare  the  sentiment  of  the  ludicrous  with 
the  complex  of  organic  sensations  which  we  call  tickling  (§§  19, 
59).  On  its  cutaneous  side,  tickling  consists  of  light  pressures 

1 It  is,  perhaps,  hardly  necessary  to  state  that  the  scientific  meaning  of  the 
terms  ‘tragedy’  and  ‘tragic’  differs  from  their  popular  meaning.  The  news- 
papers speak  of  a murder  or  a fire  as  a ‘ tragedy,’  when  as  a matter  of  fact  the 
situation  described  arouses  the  emotion  of  horror  or  disgust,  not  the  tragic  sen- 
timent. (Cf  § 2.) 


312 


Sentiment 


(pleasant)  which  are  intermittent  (unpleasant:  § 34).  As  there 
are  no  such  things  as  mixed  feelings  (§  32),  we  must  have  in  tick- 
ling, cutaneously  regarded,  an  alternation  of  pleasantness  and  un- 
pleasantness. A ‘ comic  ’ situation  would  seem  to  give  rise  to  just 
such  an  alternation,  a sort  of  central  tickling.  It  is  ‘ pretty  ’ (pleas- 
ant), but  self-contradictory  (logical  sentiment  of  contradiction; 
unpleasant).  Neither  the  pleasantness  nor  the  unpleasantness  is 
very  intensive  : if  ‘ prettiness  ’ rises  to  beauty,  we  are  jarred  by  the 
contradictory  element,  and  if  the'  self-contradiction  is  too  pro- 
nounced, no  .aesthetic  sentiment  is  aroused  at  all.  We  may  note 
that  laughter  is  the  natural  expression  of  the  comic  sentiment,  and 
that  some  psychologists  derive  all  laughter  from  that  which  follows 
upon  tickling  (§  59). 

We  indicated  two  modes  of  classifying  the  emotions 
(§  58):  they  may  be  divided  into  two  groups,  as  emotions 
of  the  present  and  the  future,  or  emotions  of  subject  and 
emotions  of  object.  The  aesthetic  sentiments  appear  to  be 
always  sentiments  of  the  present.  And  they  appear,  also, 
to  be  always  objective.  If  the  sentiment  of  beauty  is  sub- 
jectified, we  have  not  a sentiment  but  an  emotion : the 
beautiful  scene  or  object  ‘charms’  or  ‘entrances’  or  ‘in- 
toxicates ’ us,  takes  possession  of  consciousness ; the 
hideous  object  sets  up  the  emotion  of  repugnance  or 
disgust. 

There  is  a possible  exception  to  this  rule  in  the  dignity  which 
is  the  subjective  side  of  sublimity  (sublimity  in  its  second  sense, 
as  splendid  beauty).  Dignity  would  seem  to  be  a sentiment 
rather  than  an  emotion. 

We  may  note  that  there  are  degrees  of  the  sesthetic  sentiment, 
as  there  are  of  emotion  (§  60).  A landscape  is  pretty,  beautiful 
or  sublime ; a face  comely  or  handsome,  plain,  ugly  or  hideous ; 
a situation  funny,  ludicrous  or  ‘ excruciatingly  ’ funny. 

§ 89.  The  Basis  of  Esthetic  Sentiment.  — We  said  above 
that  no  completely  satisfactory  account  of  the  origin  of  the 


§ 8g.  The  Basis  of  Aesthetic  Sentiment  313 

aesthetic  sentiment,  no  adequate  explanation  of  the  power 
of  the  beautiful  and  the  ugly  to  hold  the  attention,  has  as 
yet  been  given.  We  may  now  look  briefly  at  some  of  the 
suggestions  which  have  been  made. 

(1)  It  has  been  asserted  that  the  five  forms  of  the  aes- 
thetic sentiment  proper  can  all  be  traced  to  peculiarities  of 
human  structure  or  function.  Thus  the  human  figure  is 
symmetrically  built ; hand  repeats  hand,  and  foot,  foot. 
Moreover,  waist  repeats  neck,  abdomen  repeats  chest,  legs 
repeat  arms.  The  proportions  of  height  and  girth  are 
approximately  those  of  the  golden  section : a height  of 
5 feet  goes  with  a girth  of  3.  Rhythm,  again,  is  given  in 
walking  and  breathing  ; melody,  in  the  natural  rise  and  fall 
of  the  voice  (§§  47,  50).  Inharmonic  combinations  of 
tones  produce  beats,  jarring  intermittences  of  sound,  which 
are  intrinsically  unpleasant  (§  34).  Lastly,  the  apprecia- 
tion of  colour  schemes  may  have  its  basis  partly  in  the 
existence  of  complementary  or  contrasting  colours  (§  12), 
partly  in  the  characteristic  colour  patterns  of  animals 
lower  in  the  scale  of  organic  development  than  our- 
selves. 

(2)  The  polar  opposite  of  this  mode  of  explanation  is 
found  in  a general  principle  of  beauty,  accepted  by  many 
writers  upon  aesthetic  questions,  — - the  principle  of  ‘ unity 
in  multiplicity.’  The  beautiful  impression  is  that  which  is 
at  the  same  time  one  and  more  than  one.  A colour  scheme 
or  a melody  is  a single  whole  ; yet  it  is  an  articulated  whole, 
a whole  whose  division  is  as  noticeable  as  its  singleness. 
The  primitive  aesthetic  judgment  is  unable  to  cope  with 
any  but  the  most  simple  articulation : symmetry  and  the 
octave  are  therefore  found  beautiful  at  a time  when  the 
major  third  would  be  dissonant,  and  division  at  the  golden 


314 


Sentiment 


section  a division  which  forbade  any  appreciation  of  the 
unity  of  the  divided  figure. 

(3)  It  has  been  suggested  that  the  aesthetic  sentiment 
develops  from  what  we  have  called  the  ‘feeling’  (§  56), 
a complex  composed  of  an  idea  and  a strong  affection. 
Since  an  idea  represents  an  object  or  process  in  the  out- 
side world,  the  affection  which  attaches  to  it  will,  it  is 
said,  be  made  up  not  only  of  the  affections  attaching  to 
its  component  sensations,  but  of  these  phis  an  affection 
aroused  by  attention  to  the  idea  as  a whole  ; contents  and 
form  of  the  idea  will  both  alike  be  affectively  toned.  Out 
of  the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  which  characterises 
every  idea,  regarded  not  as  a mass  of  sensations  but  as  an 
idea,  as  a form,  grow  the  higher  aesthetic  sentiments. 

The  first  explanation  is  evidently  imperfect.  Granted  that  the 
proportions  and  activities  of  the  form  peculiar  to  one’s  own 
species  are  pleasant,  there  seems  to  be  no  reason  in  the  fact  for 
the  progress  of  aesthetics,  the  extreme  attention  devoted  to  aes- 
thetic influences  by  civilised  peoples.  The  second  is  logical,  a 
reflection  upon  the  facts,  not  psychological  (§  86).  The  third 
does  not  account  for  the  origin  of  the  aesthetic  attitude  : it  simply 
puts  that  attitude  back  as  early  as  the  idea,  whereas  we  have 
dated  it  from  the  appearance  of  the  judgment,  an  association  of 
ideas.  The  problem,  therefore,  is  no  nearer  solution  than  it  was 
in  our  mere  statement  of  it. 

Where  there  is  so  much  disagreement  as  to  general  principles, 
it  will  be  readily  understood  that  there  is  little  agreement  upon 
special  points.  It  is  not  worth  while,  at  present,  to  enumerate  the 
special  hypotheses  proposed  by  different  authors.  For  although 
it  may  be  true  that  there  is  no  single  psychological  law  which  will 
explain  all  the  phenomena  of  the  sesthetic  sentiment,  but  that  a 
number  of  distinct  laws  are  at  work  to  produce  the  final  result, 
still  a list  of  the  special  laws  hitherto  formulated  would  be  just  as 
unsatisfactory  as  is  each  of  the  general  principles  stated  in  the  text. 


§ go.  The  Intellectual  Sentiments 


315 


§ 90.  The  Intellectual  Sentiments.  — The  intellectual  or 
logical  sentiments  are  the  affective  experiences  which 
cluster  round  judgments  of  truth  or  falsehood.  The  situ- 
ation which  evokes  the  judgment  is,  in  this  case,  not  a 
concurrence  of  processes  in  the  outside  world,  but  a con- 
currence of  associations  in  consciousness ; thought  itself, 
a mental  situation,  is  disjoined  by  the  attention  for  re- 
association. We  have,  therefore,  in  the  intellectual  senti- 
ments another  instance  of  that  ‘projection  outwards’  or 
‘objectification’  which  we  have  seen  to  be  illustrated  by 
the  formation  of  the  ideas  of  affection  (§  59)  and  of  self 
(§  8i> 

The  intellectual  sentiments  can  be  classified,  in  part, 
upon  the  same  principles  as  the  emotions  (§  58).  (1)  They 
fall  into  two  great  groups  as  sentiments  of  the  present  and 
sentiments  of  the  future.  Thus  curiosity  (§  1)  is  a senti- 
ment of  the  future,  which  may  become  a sentiment  of  the 
present  in  the  form  of  successful  thought  (curiosity  ful- 
filled), unsuccessful  thought  (curiosity  unfulfilled)  or  baffled 
thought  (curiosity  deferred). 

(2)  The  intellectual  sentiments  fall  also  into  two  great 
groups  as  objective  and  subjective  sentiments.  Each 
occurs  in  a more  objective  and  a more  subjective  form. 
Thus  we  have : 


OBJECTIVE  SENTIMENTS 


Objective 

Subjective 


( Agreement. 

I Contradiction. 
( Ease. 

I Difficulty. 


SUBJECTIVE  SENTIMENTS 


Objective 

Subjective 


f Truth. 

I Falsehood. 
\ Belief. 

I Disbelief. 


(3)  There  are,  however,  certain  sentiments  which  have 
no  emotive  counterparts.  These  are  the  oscillatory  senti- 
ments, which  accompany  a rapid  alternation  of  the  atten 


316 


Sentiment 


tion  between  the  two  possible  predicates  of  the  judgment. 
Thus  midway  between  the  sentiments  of  agreement  and 
contradiction  lies  the  oscillatory  sentiment  of  obscurity  ; 
between  ease  and  difficulty  of  thought  lies  confusion; 
between  truth  and  falsehood,  ambiguity ; and  between  be- 
lief and  disbelief,  doubt.  This  form  of  experience  is,  of 
course,  impossible  in  cases  where  only  the  passive  atten- 
tion is  exercised,  i.e.,  in  the  emotion : oscillation  between 
pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  can  take  place  only  when 
the  active  attention  is  present  to  oscillate. 

Each  one  of  these  sentiments  has  a corresponding  mood. 
Thus  the  mood  of  belief  is  acquiescence  ; that  of  disbelief,  incre- 
dulity ; that  of  doubt,  indecision.  And  each  one  of  them  may,  in 
course  of  time,  lose  its  affective  tone,  and  give  place  to  a state  of 
indifference. 

Method.  — The  intellectual  sentiments  might  be  investigated  in 
the  following  way.  Prepare  a number  of  reasoned  statements,  — 
or  select  them  from  the  lists  given  in  the  text-books  of  formal 
logic,  — some  of  which  are  correct,  while  others  contain  various 
logical  fallacies.  Let  the  subject  give  a careful  introspective  ac- 
count of  the  ‘ feelings  ’ aroused  by  their  reading.  — It  is  possible 
that  a systematic  employment  of  this  method  would  enable  us  to 
distinguish  a greater  number  of  special  intellectual  sentiments 
than  have  hitherto  been  described. 

A rough  notion  of  the  number  and  forms  of  the  intellectual  sen- 
timents can  be  obtained  by  introspection  of  consciousness  during 
the  reading  of  a piece  of  scientific  reasoning,  or  the  hearing  of  a 
scientific  lecture.  The  array  of  arguments  as  ‘ first,’  ‘ secondly,’ 
‘ thirdly,’  etc.,  arouses  the  mood  of  acquiescence  ; an  emphatic  ‘ if,’ 
the  sentiment  of  doubt ; a ‘ but,’  the  sentiment  of  contradiction  ; 
a “Now,  then,  we  can  see  . . .”  the  sentiment  of  truth;  etc. 

Literature.  — Literature,  prose  and  poetry  is,  perhaps,  the  form 
of  art  which  gives  rise  to  the  most  complex  sentiments.  We 
have  in  reading  it  (i)  the  aesthetic  sentiments  of  rhythm  and 


§ 9i.  Social  or  Ethical,  Religious  Sentiments  317 

musical  harmony;  (2)  the  intellectual  sentiments  of  agreement 
and  truth ; (3)  oftentimes  an  ethical  or  religious  sentiment,  at- 
taching to  the  contents  of  the  passage  read  ; and  (4)  oftentimes 
a secondary  aesthetic  sentiment,  accompanying  the  reproductive 
ideas  which  supplement  the  printed  words  in  our  minds.  We 
can  understand  this  many-sided  effect  of  literature  when  we 
remember  the  large  part  played  by  verbal  ideas  in  every  type 
of  consciousness. 

§ 91.  The  Social  or  Ethical  and  the  Religious  Sentiments. 

— The  situation  which  arouses  an  ethical  sentiment  is  any 
action  or  group  of  actions,  performed  by  oneself  or  an- 
other, of  which  the  term  ‘good,’  ‘bad,’  ‘right’  or  ‘wrong’ 
may  be  predicated. 

It  is  plain  that  we  have  two  great  classes  of  these  senti- 
ments: the  subjective,  attaching  to  judgment  of  our  own 
action,  and  the  objective,  attaching  to  judgment  of  the 
action  of  others.  Among  the  subjective  may  be  counted 
shame  and  pride,  humiliation  and  vanity,  guilt  and  inno- 
cence, freedom  and  restraint,  etc.  Among  the  objective 
are  trust  and  distrust,  gratitude  and  ingratitude,  envy  and 
compassion,  jealousy  and  magnanimity,  emulation  and 
self-effacement,  indebtedness  and  patronage,  forgiveness 
and  revenge,  etc.  It  is  plain,  too,  that  some  of  these  sen- 
timents occur  in  a more  subjective  and  a more  objective 
form : thus  praise  and  blame  are  the  objective  correlates 
of  pride  and  shame,  justice  and  injustice  the  objective 
correlates  of  innocence  and  guilt,  security  and  insecurity 
the  subjective  correlates  of  trust  and  distrust,  honour  the 
subjective  correlate  of  duty.  But  it  is  impossible  to  make 
out  a complete  list,  or  to  set  up  a satisfactory  classification, 
of  the  ethical  sentiments.  The  situation  judged  is,  as  a 
rule,  so  important  to  us,  so  absorbing,  that  the  sentiment 


Sentiment 


318 

passes  over  into  an  emotion ; guilt  and  innocence  become 
hope  and  fear,  envy  and  compassion  are  lost  in  hate  and 
affection  (“  pity’s  akin  to  love  ”),  humiliation  changes  to 
chagrin,  etc. 

Although  they  spring  from  a different  root,  and  al- 
though the  judgments  to  which  they  attach  are  intrinsi- 
cally different,  the  religious  sentiments  are,  in  the  civilised 
society  of  to-day,  most  intimately  connected  with  the  ethi- 
cal. Many  of  the  experiences  mentioned  in  the  previous 
paragraph  may  be  grouped  round  the  religious  judgment. 
Further  to  mention  are  the  sentiments  of  awe  and  rever- 
ence, humility  and  unworthiness,  faith  and  resignation, 
exaltation  and  remorse,  etc.  All  of  these  sentiments 
readily  pass  into  emotions. 

Method.  — The  ethical  and  religious  sentiments  could  be  inves- 
tigated, perhaps,  by  help  of  the  questionnaire.  The  questio7inaiil 
is  a series  of  questions,  submitted  to  a large  number  of  persons 
for  introspective  answer ; it  is  a device  to  secure  the  advantages 
of  comparative  introspection  (§  9 ; cf.  § 35). 

In  the  present  case,  a number  of  typical  instances  of  conduct 
would  need  to  be  collected.  The  list  would  be  headed  by  the 
direction  : £ Read  these  cases,  one  by  one,  and  describe  intro- 
spectively  the  feelings  which  they  arouse  in  you.’  If  the  persons 
appealed  to  were  well  versed  in  the  employment  of  psychological 
method,  their  replies  might  go  far  to  bring  order  into  the  existing 
chaos. 

The  expression  of  the  sentiments,  so  far  as  it  has  been  investi- 
gated, does  not  differ  in  kind  from  that  of  the  emotions.  Thus  if 
the  subject,  placed  as  described  in  § 33  (2),  be  shown  a prettily 
painted  decorative  pattern,  pulse  and  breathing  are  heightened, 
and  volume  and  muscular  strength  increased. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


The  Synthesis  of  Action.  The  Reaction  Experiment 

§ 92.  The  Synthesis  of  Action.  — In  Chapter  X we  ana- 
lysed and  classified  the  various  forms  of  action,  but  did 
not  attempt  an  experimental  reconstruction  of  the  action- 
consciousness.  We  have  now  to  make  good  this  omis- 
sion ; to  put  together  the  processes  which  we  found  to  be 
involved  in  action,  and  to  show  by  synthesis  that  our 
analysis  was  correct. 

The  method  which  enables  us  to  effect  the  synthesis 
of  action,  to  put  together,  for  experimental  purposes,  the 
constituents  of  which  the  action-consciousness  is  com- 
posed, is  known  as  the  reaction  method.  A reaction  is 
an  artificial  action.  It  is  agreed  between  two  persons, 
the  ‘experimenter’  and  the  ‘reactor,’  that  on  the  occur- 
rence of  a certain  sensory  stimulus  (given  by  the  experi- 
menter) a certain  movement  shall  be  made  (by  the 
reactor).  The  sensation  set  up  by  the  stimulus  corre- 
sponds to  the  object-idea  in  impulsive,  etc.,  action ; the 
simple  movement  made  in  response  to  it  corresponds  to 
the  complicated  movements  of  crouching  down,  clinching 
the  fist,  etc.  We  may  make  the  reaction  impulsive,  voli- 
tional, etc.,  as  we  please,  by  prearranging  the  conditions 
under  which  the  experiment  is  performed. 

The  reaction  experiment  consists,  on  its  objective  side, 
in  the  accurate  measurement  of  the  time  elapsing  between 

3J9 


320  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experiment 

the  occurrence  of  the  sensory  stimulus  and  the  execution 
of  the  movement  in  response  to  it ; on  its  subjective 
side,  in  the  introspective  examination  of  the  conscious 
processes  which  run  their  course  during  this  time,  and 
for  some  2 sec.  before  it.  The  responsive  movement 
may  follow  at  once  upon  the  sensing  of  the  stimulus,  or 
may  be  restrained  until  certain  connections  have  been 
formed  in  consciousness.  In  the  former  case  we  speak 
of  a simple , in  the  latter  of  a compound  reaction. 


Method.  — Figure  io  shows  one  of  the  sets  of  apparatus  most 
commonly  employed  in  the  reaction  experiment.  A and  B are 
different  rooms  : the  reactor  sits  in  the  reacting  room,  B,  the 
experimenter,  who  notes  the  time  taken  by  the  reaction,  in  the 
registration  room,  A.  Reactor  and  experimenter  are  separated 
in  order  that  the  reactor’s  introspection  may  be  undisturbed  by 
noise,  etc. 

a is  a telegraph  key.  The  reaction  movement  employed 
with  this  set  of  instruments  consists  in  the  lifting  of  the  first  or 
second  finger  of  the  right  hand  from  the  button  of  the  key.  b is 
a steel  hammer  (§  29),  the  head  of  which  can  be  lowered  so  as  to 


§ 92.  The  Synthesis  of  Action 


321 


strike  upon  a steel  block  placed  beneath  it.  The  sound  made 
by  the  fall  of  the  hammer  is  the  stimulus  to  which  the  subject  in 
the  present  experiments  is  to  react,  c is  a screen,  which  pre- 
vents the  reactor  from  seeing  the  hammer  fall,  and  consequently 
moving  his  finger  too  soon  (reacting  to  sight,  instead  of  to 
sound). 

Hammer  and  key  are  connected  with  an  electric  clock,  or 
chronoscope,  e.  The  clock  has  two  dials.  A complete  revolu- 
tion of  the  hand  of  the  lower  dial  occupies  10  sec.,  a complete  re- 
volution of  that  of  the  upper  dial,  -fa  sec.  The  circumference  of 
each  dial  is  divided  into  100  parts;  so  that  the  unit  of  measure- 
ment on  the  lower  dial  is  sec.,  that  on  the  upper,  sec. 

To  read  the  time  from  the  clock,  therefore,  we  have  only  to  add 
the  figures  of  the  upper  to  those  of  the  lower  dial;  if  the  lower 
hand  points  to  76,  and  the  upper  to  25,  the  time  is  7.625  sec. 
The  chronoscope  goes  only  when  the  electric  current  is  passed 
through  a magnet,  which  is  attached  to  the  clockwork. 

The  wires  which  connect  together  hammer,  key  and  chrono- 
scope run  to  the  battery /,  by  way  of  a commutating  key,  d.  The 
function  of  this  key  is  to  change  the  direction  of  the  current  sent 
through  the  chronoscope  in  successive  experiments.  In  one  ex- 
periment, the  current  takes  the  direction  +— -;  in  the  next, 
the  direction  +rX+“.  This  reversal  is  necessary,  since  a current 
which  travelled  always  in  the  same  direction  would  permanently 
magnetise  the  chronoscope  magnet,  and  so  alter  the  times  recorded 
by  the  dials. 

Below  the  shaft  of  the  hammer  b is  placed  an  electromagnet,  g, 
wires  from  which  run  to  the  battery  f,  by  way  of  the  commutator 
d'.  Closure  of  the  commutator  sends  a current  through  the  mag- 
net, and  the  head  of  the  hammer  is  thus  pulled  down  upon  the 
steel  block. 

We  will  suppose  now  that  an  experiment  is  to  be  made.  The 
experimenter,  seated  before  the  chronoscope  in  the  registration 
room,  closes  the  commutator  d.  Having  done  this,  he  signals  to 
the  reactor  (by  means  of  an  ordinary  electric  bell,  not  represented 
in  the  Figure)  to  prepare  for  the  reaction  movement.  The  reactor 

Y 


322  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experiment 

lays  his  right  arm  on  the  table  which  carries  the  reacting  key,  a, 
and  rests  the  first  or  second  finger  of  the  right  hand  upon  the  but- 
ton, thus  closing  the  key.  We  have  (i)  a closed,  d closed,  and 
b open.  Two  seconds  after  his  signal  (§  41),  the  experimenter 
closes  the  commutator  d[ ; the  hammer  falls.  The  sound  stimulus 
is  thus  given,  while  we  have  (2)  a closed,  d closed,  and  b closed  : 
the  chronoscope  hands  begin  to  move.  The  reactor,  hearing  the 
hammer  fall,  raises  his  finger  from  the  button  of  a,  — i.e.,  ‘ reacts.’ 
We  have  (3)  a open,  b closed,  and  d closed  : the  chronoscope 
stops  with  the  breaking  of  the  circuit  at  a.  If  the  hands  pointed 
to  7.625  at  (2),  and  the  dials  now  read  7.819  at  (3),  we  know  that 
the  whole  time,  from  the  dropping  of  the  hammer  to  the  moving 
of  the  finger,  was  .194  sec.  This  interval  is  called  the  ‘reaction 
time  ’ ; and  its  unit,  the  thousandth  of  1 sec.,  is  called  a ‘ sigma  ’ 
(Greek  a). 

While  the  experimenter  is  reading  the  reaction  time  from  the 
dials  of  the  chronoscope,  the  reactor  writes  out  an  introspective 
account  of  his  reaction-consciousness,  beginning  from  the  sound- 
ing of  the  signal  bell,  2 sec.  before  the  hammer  fell,  and  ending 
with  the  snapping  of  the  finger  from  the  button  of  the  reacting 
key.  Presently  the  signal  is  again  sounded  by  the  experimenter, 
and  a new  experiment  begins.  It  is  customary  to  limit  a series 
of  experiments  to  15  or  20,  since  the  strain  of  attention  necessary 
for  reacting  and  for  the  subsequent  introspection  is  very  great,  and 
the  reactor  soon  becomes  fatigued  (§  10). 

The  psychological  laboratories  contain  many  forms  of  the  re- 
acting key,  many  kinds  of  instruments  whose  function  it  is  to  give 
the  stimulus  which  starts  the  reaction  experiment,  and  many  appa- 
ratus for  time  registration.  The  responsive  movement  need  not  be 
made  with  the  finger ; it  may  be  performed  by  lips,  eyelid,  vocal 
organs,  tongue,  foot,  etc.  And  the  stimulus  need  not  be  auditory ; 
it  may  be  visual,  tactual,  etc.  Moreover,  the  movement  may  be 
movement  not  of  a single  finger,  but  of  different  fingers  in  dif- 
ferent experiments  : in  such  cases  a five-finger  key  is  employed. 
And  the  impression  may  not  be  known  beforehand  to  the  reactor ; 
it  may  be  one  of  a number  of  colours,  sounds,  etc. : in  such  case 
the  apparatus  which  gives  the  stimulus  becomes  very  complex. 


§ 93-  The  Simple  Reaction 


323 


The  reaction  time  in  the  instance  given  above  is  the  time 
elapsing  between  the  fall  of  the  hammer  and  the  movement  of  the 
finger  from  the  key.  Within  this  time,  the  external  stimulation 
has  made  its  way  through  the  ear,  and  the  excitation  set  up  in 
the  hair-cells  of  the  basilar  membrane  has  travelled  to  the  brain. 
Moreover,  the  outgoing  excitation  has  run  down  the  right  arm,  to 
the  finger-tip.  No  one  of  these  physiological  processes  is  accom- 
panied by  a conscious  process.  Plainly,  then,  the  reaction  time 
is  the  duration  of  more  than  a simple  action-consciousness  : it  is 
the  duration  of  this,  plus  the  duration  of  certain  physiological  pro- 
cesses. It  is,  unfortunately,  impossible  to  measure  the  physiologi- 
cal processes  by  themselves,  and  subtract  the  time  which  they 
require  from  the  total  reaction  time;  so  that  every  recorded  re- 
action time  is  somewhat  too  long.  This  fact,  while  it  does  away 
with  the  absolute  value  of  the  figures  read  from  the  chronoscope, 
does  not  lessen  their  relative  value.  If  a reaction  time  which  in- 
cludes, say,  the  formation  of  an  association  of  ideas  is  longer  than 
a reaction  time  which  does  not,  the  difference  may  be  referred, 
other  conditions  being  equal,  to  the  association. 

§93.  The  Simple  Reaction.  — In  the  simple  reaction 
experiment,  the  movement  follows  at  once  upon  the  sens- 
ing of  the  stimulus.  In  other  words,  the  simple  reaction 
is  an  artificial  impulsive  action.  But  the  impulsive  action 
of  real  life  passes  over  into  reflex  action ; and  in  like 
manner  the  simple  reaction,  by  a fitting  preadjustment  of 
its  conditions,  may  be  brought  very  near  to  the  reflex 
type.  We  thus  have  two  forms  of  simple  reaction : the 
true  or  impulsive  form,  or,  as  it  is  usually  termed,  the 
‘ sensorial  ’ reaction  ; and  the  curtailed  or  reflex-like  form, 
usually  termed  the  ‘ muscular  ’ reaction. 

(1)  The  Sensorial  Reaction.  — In  the  sensorial  reaction 
experiment,  the  reactor  is  directed  to  hold  his  attention 
from  the  outset  upon  the  sensory  stimulus,  and  to  withhold 
the  reaction  movement  until  he  has  sensed  that  stimulus. 


324  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experiment 

At  the  beginning  of  the  experiment,  therefore,  conscious- 
ness is  dominated  by  an  idea  of  end,  and  by  a centrally 
aroused  sensation  (or  verbal  idea)  which  corresponds  to 
the  expected  stimulus.  When  the  stimulus  is  given,  this 
centrally  aroused  object-idea  is  replaced  by  the  periphe- 
rally aroused  sensation,  which  brings  with  it  the  recogni- 
tive  or  cognitive  mood.  We  now  have  two  of  the  three 
factors  in  the  impulse : the  ideas  of  object  and  of  end. 
These  are  immediately  supplemented  by  the  idea  of  move- 
ment, and  the  motor  response  to  the  stimulus  is  made. 

The  stages  in  the  formation  of  the  reaction-consciousness  (sen- 
sorial reaction)  may,  therefore,  be  tabulated  as  follows : 

(1)  idea  of  end  plus  anticipation  of  object ; 

(2)  idea  of  end  plus  idea  of  object,  with  mood  of  ‘ at  home  ’ or 

‘ of  course  ’ • 

(3)  idea  of  end  plus  idea  of  object  plus  idea  of  movement ; 

(4)  sensations  set  up  by  movement. 

The  idea  of  end  soon  ceases  to  play  any  considerable  part  in 
the  reaction-consciousness.  At  first  it  may  be  vividly  present,  as 
the  idea  of  gaining  control  over  the  attention,  getting  practice  in 
introspection,  adding  to  the  sum  of  psychological  facts,  doing  a 
piece  of  prescribed  work  well,  etc.  But  with  frequent  repeti- 
tion of  the  experiments,  it  loses  its  original  definiteness,  until,  in 
course  of  time,  all  that  is  left  of  it  is  the  cognitive  mood  set  up  by 
the  sight  of  the  reaction  table,  screen,  etc. 

The  duration  of  the  simple  sensorial  reaction  differs 
according  to  the  sense  department  from  which  the  object- 
idea  is  taken,  i.e.,  to  which  the  stimulus  appeals.  This 
time  difference  is,  in  all  probability,  due  to  the  physiologi- 
cal conditions  of  stimulation  of  the  different  sense-organs, 
and  accordingly  has  no  psychological  significance. 

The  sensorial  reaction  time  has  been  determined  in  the  spheres 
of  sight,  sound,  pressure,  taste,  smell  and  temperature.  But  the 


§ 93-  The  Simple  Reaction 


325 


conditions  of  stimulation  in  the  three  last  cases  are  so  variable 
and  so  little  understood  that  the  time  measurements  are  of  small 
psychological  value.  For  purposes  of  introspective  analysis  and 
comparison,  therefore,  we  must  confine  ourselves  to  reactions  in 
the  domain  of  sight,  sound  and  pressure. 

The  average  durations  are  as  follows  : 

(1)  Sensorial  reaction  to  light : 2700-; 

(2)  Sensorial  reaction  to  sound  : 2250-; 

(3)  Sensorial  reaction  to  pressure  : 2100-. 

(2)  The  Muscular  Reaction.  — In  the  muscular  reaction 
experiment,  the  reactor  is  directed  to  hold  his  attention 
from  the  outset  upon  the  movement  which  is  to  be  made 
in  response  to  the  stimulus.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
experiment,  therefore/consciousness  is  dominated  by  the 
ideas  of  end  and  of  movement.  When  the  stimulus  is 
given,  and  the  object-idea  added  to  these  two  ideas,  the 
impulse  is  complete : motor  response  to  the  stimulus  is 
immediately  made. 

The  sensorial  reaction  can  never  pass  over  into  a reflex 
action,  since,  by  the  conditions  of  the  experiment,  move- 
ment cannot  take  place  until  the  ideas  of  end  and  of 
object  have  been  supplemented  by  the  idea  of  move- 
ment. The  muscular  reaction,  on  the  other  hand,  may, 
in  course  of  practice,  come  very  near  to  the  reflex  type. 
In  the  first  place,  the  idea  of  end  tends  to  disappear, 
as  the  reactor  grows  accustomed  to  the  experiment.  In 
the  second  place,  the  concentration  of  attention  upon  the 
movement  to  be  made  paves  the  way  for  the  actual  move- 
ment ; the  attention  does  for  this  movement  what  biologi- 
cal conditions  have  done  for  other  movements  which  are 
of  the  true  reflex  order ; there  exists,  for  the  time  being,  a 
sort  of  ‘reflex  arc’  (§  66)  between  the  sense-organ  to 


326  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experiment 

which  the  stimulus  appeals  and  the  muscles  concerned  in 
the  reaction  movement,  — just  as  there  exists  a permanent 
reflex  arc  between,  e.g.,  the  pressure  organs  in  the  cornea 
of  the  eye  and  the  muscles  concerned  in  winking.  Hence 
it  is  intelligible  that  the  muscular  reaction  should  be  quick 
and  spasmodic,  and  that  it  should  oftentimes  seem,  when 
introspectively  examined,  to  have  taken  place  automati- 
cally, reflexly,  without  the  intervention  of  any  object-idea 
at  all. 

When  the  reactor  is  new  to  the  reaction  experiment,  the  stages 
in  the  formation  of  the  reaction-consciousness  (muscular  reaction) 
may  be  tabulated  as  follows  : 

(1)  idea  of  end  plus  idea  of  movement ; 

(2)  idea  of  end  plus  idea  of  movement  plus  idea  of  object ; 

(3)  sensations  set  up  by  movement. 

But  in  its  most  reflex-like  form,  as  performed  by  a highly 
practised  subject,  the  reaction  is  accompanied  only  by  the  follow- 
ing processes  : 

(1)  idea  of  movement ; 

(2)  sensations  set  up  by  movement. 

The  idea  of  end  lapses  altogether,  and  the  object-idea  comes 
to  consciousness  later,  after  the  movement  has  been  made. 

The  average  durations  of  the  muscular  reaction  are  as  follows  : 

(1)  Muscular  reaction  to  light : i8o<r; 

(2)  Muscular  reaction  to  sound  : 120a- ; 

(3)  Muscular  reaction  to  pressure  : 1100-. 

These  times  are  too  long  to  be  pure  reflex  times:  the  winking 
reflex  occupies  only  about  50  <r.  But  they  are  reflex-like.  This 
is  borne  out  not  only  by  the  verdict  of  introspection,  but  also  by 
the  fact  that  the  muscular  reaction  is  not  infrequently  made  too 
soon,  or  made  in  response  to  the  wrong  stimulus.  If  the  attention 
has  done  its  work  thoroughly,  and  the  ‘ reflex  arc  ’ is  well  con- 
nected in  all  its  parts,  there  is  a constant  tendency  for  the  move- 


§ 93-  The  Simple  Reaction 


327 


ment  to  ‘ go  off  ’ ; any  slight  provocation,  such  as  the  creaking  of 
a chair  in  the  reacting  room,  is  enough  to  bring  about  the  jerk 
of  the  finger  from  the  key. 

The  difference  between  the  average  sensorial  and  the  average 
muscular  reaction  time  amounts,  as  the  tables  show,  to  about 
ioocr  or  sec.  The  difference  is  so  constant  that  the  experi- 
menter, as  he  reads  the  figures  from  the  chronoscope,  can  tell 
whether  the  subject  is  reacting  in  the  one  way  or  the  other. 
This  objective  control  is  most  valuable,  since  it  enables  us  to 
educate  the  reactor  in  introspection,  to  aid  him  in  gaining  sub- 
jective control  of  his  action  by  acquiring  a mastery  over  the 
attention  (§  97). 

The  Mean  Variation.  — If  we  are  to  estimate  the  introspective 
power  of  the  reactor,  we  must  know  not  only  the  average  duration 
of  his  sensorial  and  muscular  reactions,  but  the  regularity  or  irreg- 
ularity with  which  he  reacts.  Thus  suppose  that  in  three  succes- 
sive sensorial  reactions  to  sound  the  chronoscope  read  no  a-, 
320 cr  and  245  o-.  The  average  of  these  three  times  is  a good 
average:  2250-.  But  the  irregularity  is  so  great  that  the  reactor 
could  not  be  credited  with  any  considerable  degree  of  control 
over  his  attention. 

Hence  it  is  usual  to  record  not  only  the  average  reaction  time 
of  each  reactor,  but  the  mean  variation  of  that  time.  By  the 
‘ mean  variation  ’ we  mean  the  average  difference  between  the 
average  reaction  time  and  the  single  reaction  times  gained  in 
the  course  of  an  experimental  series.  Thus  noo-  differs  from  the 
average  time  (225  <r)  by  1 15  cr  ; 3200-  differs  from  it  by  95  a ; and 
245  a differs  from  it  by  20  a.  The  mean  variation  in  this  case  is 
( 1 1 5 +95  -f  20)  -h  3 (the  number  of  experiments  in  the  series)  ; 
i.e.,  77  cr. 

The  mean  variation  of  a practised  reactor  is  10  <7  for  muscular 
reactions,  and  about  25  a for  sensorial. 

The  simple  reaction  experiment  can  be  varied  in  many  ways. 
Thus  we  can  investigate  the  influence  of  the  intensity  of  stimulus, 
of  variation  of  the  time  allowed  for  preparation  of  the  attention, 


328  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experhncnt 

of  the  omission  of  the  signal,  of  the  occurrence  of  distracting 
stimuli,  etc.  The  results  of  such  experiments  are  all  valuable  as 
throwing  light  upon  the  working  of  the  attention. 

§ 94.  The  Discrimination  Reaction  and  the  Cognition  Re- 
action.— In  its  sensorial  form,  the  simple  reaction  is  an 
artificial  impulsive  action.  In  the  experience  of  everyday 
life,  we  have  conflicts  of  impulses  with  one  another,  the 
result  of  which  may  be  inaction  or  selective  action,  and 
conflicts  of  impulses  with  other  groups  of  associated  ideas, 
the  result  of  which  may  be  inaction  or  volitional  action. 
Now  if  we  can  introduce  these  conflicts  into  the  course  of 
the  reaction  experiment,  we  shall  be  able  objectively  to 
measure  and  subjectively  to  examine  the  two  most  compli- 
cated forms  of  the  action-consciousness. 

It  is  possible,  by  the  help  of  the  reaction  method,  to 
put  together  an  artificial  selective  or  volitional  action. 
But  the  end  cannot  be  reached  by  a single  step.  We 
must  advance  to  ‘ choice  reactions,’  as  they  are  termed, 
by  way  of  the  ‘discrimination  reaction’  and  the  ‘cognition 
reaction.’ 

(1)  The  Discrimination  Reaction , — The  discrimination 
reaction  differs  only  in  one  respect  from  the  simple  senso- 
rial reaction.  In  the  latter,  the  subject  reacts  to  a single 
known  stimulus ; in  the  former,  to  one  of  two  or  more 
known  stimuli.  The  reactor  is  told,  e.g.,  that  he  will  be 
shown  either  black  or  white,  and  that  he  is  to  react  when 
he  has  cognised  the  black  as  black  or  the  white  as 
white ; but  he  does  not  know  which  of  the  two  brightness 
qualities  to  expect  in  each  particular  experiment.  He  has 
to  ‘ discriminate  ’ the  stimulus  which  is  actually  employed.- 

(2)  The  Cognition  Reaction.  — The  cognition  reaction 
differs  in  two  respects  from  the  simple  sensorial  reaction. 


§ 94-  Discrimination  Reaction , Cognition  Reaction  329 

In  the  first  place,  the  subject  is  required  to  react  only 
when  he  has  cognised  some  one  of  two  or  more  possible 
stimuli;  the  cognition  reaction  is  a discrimination  reaction. 
In  the  second  place,  the  reactor  does  not  know,  except  in 
a quite  general  way,  what  stimulus  he  is  to  expect.  Thus 
he  may  be  told  that  he  will  be  shown  a light  stimulus, 
and  that  he  is  to  react  when  he  has  cognised  this  stimulus 
as  a particular  brightness  or  a particular  colour;  but  nothing 
more  explicit  is  said. 

If  we  wish  briefly  to  characterise  these  three  forms  of  reaction, 
we  may  say  that  (1)  the  simple  sensorial  reaction  involves  cogni- 
tion of  one  known  stimulus,  (2)  the  discrimination  reaction  in- 
volves cognition  of  some  one  of  a number  of  known  stimuli,  and 
(3)  the  cognition  reaction  involves  cognition  of  some  one  of  a 
number  of  unknown  stimuli,  — ‘unknown,’  that  is,  so  far  as  igno- 
rance is  permitted  by  the  conditions  of  the  method  at  large. 

For  an  analysis  of  the  ‘cognition’  which  is  involved  in  each 
case,  cf.  § 72.  The  reader  must  remember  that  the  titles  ‘ discrim- 
ination reaction  ’ and  ‘ cognition  reaction  ’ are  employed  in  narrow 
and  special  senses.  The  ‘ discrimination  reaction  ’ implies  a cog- 
nition ; and  the  ‘ cognition  reaction  ’ implies  a more  elaborate  dis- 
crimination than  does  the  ‘ discrimination  reaction  ’ technically 
so  called. 

Both  the  discrimination  reaction  and  the  cognition  reaction  are 
longer  than  the  simple  sensorial  reaction.  The  time  differences 
between  the  latter  and  certain  forms  of  the  cognition  reaction  are 
given  in  the  following  table  : 

The  ‘cognition’  of  a colour  requires  300- ; 

The  ‘cognition’  of  a printed  letter  requires  500- ; 

The  ‘cognition’  of  a short  word  requires  500-. 

With  simple  stimuli,  of  this  kind,  there  is  hardly  any  difference 
between  the  durations  of  the  discrimination  and  cognition  reaction. 
The  rule  seems  to  be,  however,  that  discrimination  requires  a 
slightly  shorter  time  than  cognition. 


330  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experiment 

§ 95.  The  Choice  Reaction.  — The  choice  reaction  is  an 
artificial  selective  or  volitional  action. 

(1)  The  Choice  Reaction  as  Selective  Action.  — This  re- 
action, in  its  simplest  form,  is  a direct  development  from 
the  discrimination  reaction.  The  reactor  is  told,  e.g.,  that 
he  will  be  shown  either  black  or  white,  and  that  he  is  to 
react  only  when  he  has  cognised  the  black  as  black  or  the 
white  as  white.  So  far,  the  directions  are  the  same  as 
those  for  the  discrimination  reaction.  But  further,  he  is 
to  react  to  black  by  a movement  of  the  right  hand,  and 
to  white,  by  a movement  of  the  left  hand.  This  additional 
direction  introduces  a conflict  of  impulses  into  the  course 
of  the  experiment. 

(2)  The  Choice  Reaction  as  Volitional  Action.  — This 
reaction  also  is  built  up,  in  the  first  place,  from  the  dis- 
crimination reaction.  The  reactor  is  instructed  as  before, 
except  that  he  is  told  to  react  to  black  by  a movement  of 
the  right  hand,  and  not  to  react  to  white  at  all.  There  is 
thus  introduced  into  the  experiment  a conflict  between  an 
impulse  and  another  group  of  ideas. 

Both  forms  of  the  choice  reaction,  however,  may  be  based 
upon  the  cognition  reaction,  instead  of  the  simpler  discrim- 
ination reaction.  Thus  the  reactor  may  be  told  that  he  will 
be  shown  a colour  or  a letter,  and  that  he  is  to  react  by 
naming  the  impression,  i.e.,  by  a movement  of  the  vocal 
organs.  He  is  here  left  in  entire  ignorance  as  to  what 
colours  or  what  letters  will  be  exposed.  The  reaction  will, 
in  this  case,  be  an  artificial  selective  action.  Or  he  may  be 
told  that  he  will  be  shown  either  a colour  or  a letter,  and 
that  he  is  to  react  to  the  former  by  naming  the  given 
impression,  but  not  to  react  to  letters  at  all.  In  this  case, 
the  reaction  would  be  an  artificial  volitional  action. 


§ 95-  The  Choice  Reaction 


33i 


(1)  It  is  plain  that  the  time  occupied  by  the  conflict  of  im- 
pulses in  the  first  form  of  the  choice  reaction  will  depend  very 
largely  upon  the  reactor’s  practice,  and  upon  the  number  of 
impressions  used.  If  no  more  than  two  stimuli  are  employed,  — 
say,  black  and  white,  — the  connection  of  black  with  right-hand 
movement  and  of  white  with  left-hand  movement  may  become  so 
stable,  in  course  of  practice,  that  there  is  really  no  conflict  of 
impulses  in  the  case.  The  reaction  may  come  to  be  as  much  a 
matter  of  course  as  the  taking  of  a knife  in  one’s  right  hand 
and  a fork  in  one’s  left  (§  96).  On  the  other  hand,  if  ten  col- 
ours are  used,  and  the  reactor  instructed  to  reply  to  each  colour 
by  the  movement  of  a particular  finger,  there  will  nearly  always 
be  some  conflict  of  impulses,  hovever  great  the  amount  of 
practice. 

The  following  may  be  taken  as  instances  of  the  duration  of  the 
choice  reaction1  (selective  action),  (a)  Nine  persons  were  re- 
quired to  react  to  two  intensities  of  sound  by  movements  of  the 
two  hands.  The  average  time  of  the  choice  reaction  was  3160-. 
When  we  remember  that  the  simple  sensorial  reaction  to  sound 
occupies  2250-,  and  that  the  remaining  910-  represents  not  only 
the  ‘ choice,’  i.e.,  the  conflict  of  impulses,  but  also  the  ‘ discrimina- 
tion,’ i.e.,  the  cognition  of  the  loud  as  ‘ the  loud  ’ and  the  weak  as 
‘ the  weak  ’ sound,  we  see  that  the  conflict  of  impulses  in  the 
experiments  was  not  very  serious.  ‘Choice’  could  not  have 
occupied  more  than  60  cr. 

(3)  In  another  investigation,  ten  persons  reacted  to  ten  impres- 
sions (the  figures  1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  I,  II,  III,  IV  and  V)  by  movements 
of  the  fingers  of  the  two  hands.  The  average  time  of  reaction 
was  610  a-.  If  we  subtract  from  this  total  270  <x  for  the  simple 
sensorial  reaction  time,  we  have  a remainder  of  340  cr.  Allowing 


1 The  figures  given  here  and  later  in  the  chapter  must  be  regarded  as  quite 
rough  averages.  The  duration  of  a compound  reaction  varies  so  greatly  with 
variation  of  the  experimental  conditions,  and  conditions  have  varied  so  greatly 
in  the  investigations  as  yet  carried  out,  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  make  any 
general  statement  as  to  the  time  occupied  by  the  processes  of  ‘ choice  ’ and 
association. 


332  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experiment 

30-50  o-  for  ‘discrimination,’  we  have  290-310  <r  as  the  time 
occupied  by  the  conflict  of  impulses. 

( c ) We  now  come  to  the  consideration  of  choice  reactions 
which  presuppose  not  the  ‘discrimination’  reaction  but  the  ‘cog- 
nition ’ reaction.  Two  persons  reacted  to  colours,  letters  and 
short  words  : the  reaction  movement  consisted  in  the  articulation 
of  the  name  of  the  given  impression.  The  average  times  were  : 
for  colours,  550 a;  for  letters,  410a-;  for  short  words,  390 0-. 
From  the  first  we  must  subtract  270  + 30  0- : the  time  occupied  by 
the  conflict  of  impulses  was,  therefore,  2500-.  From  the  second 
and  third  we  must  take  270  + 50 a:  the  times  occupied  by  the 
conflict  of  impulses  were  90  and  700-. 

(2)  It  seems  that  volitional  action  is,  on  the  whole,  somewhat 
shorter  than  selective.  The  nine  persons  who  gave  an  average 
selective  reaction  of  3160-  in  the  experiments  with  two  intensities 
of  sound,  described  above,  gave  an  average  reaction  of  310.50- 
when  required  to  react  with  the  right  hand  to  the  weaker  sound, 
and  not  to  react  to  the  stronger  at  all.  This  time  difference  is 
so  small  as  to  be  for  all  practical  purposes  no  difference.  Other 
experiments,  however,  seem  to  show  that  the  rule  is  as  stated. 

§ 96.  The  Automatic  Reaction.  — Impulsive  action  be- 
comes reflex : we  have  not  only  the  sensorial  but  also 
the  muscular  form  of  the  simple  reaction.  In  the  same 
way,  selective  and  voluntary  action,  if  constantly  repeated, 
become  automatic : we  have  automatic  reactions  in  addi- 
tion to  choice  reactions. 

The  automatic  reaction  is  psychologically  valuable  as  a 
supplement  to  the  muscular  simple  reaction.  This  latter, 
it  will  be  remembered,  is  from  the  outset  an  artificial 
reflex ; we  prearrange  the  conditions  of  the  experiment 
with  the  intention  of  getting  a reaction  which  shall  be 
as  near  a reflex  action  as  possible.  The  muscular  reac- 
tion is  not  a degenerated  sensorial  reaction.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  automatic  reaction  is  a degenerated  choice  reac- 


§ 97-  Function  of  tJie  Reaction  Experiment  333 

tion;  it  is  a secondary  reflex,  derived  directly  from  an 
artificial  selective  or  volitional  action. 

If,  then,  we  continue  a choice  reaction  until  it  becomes 
automatic,  we  gain  opportunity  to  observe  introspectively 
the  emergence  of  a secondary  reflex.  The  experimenta- 
tion is  further  valuable  as  illustrating  the  course  of  prac- 
tice. 

In  cases  of  extreme  automatism,  the  discrimination  of  two 
known  colours  has  been  found  to  require  only  1 1 cr ; that  of  the 
locality  of  a sound,  only  150-. 

The  tendency  of  the  reactor  towards  automatism  is  one  of  the 
greatest  difficulties  which  the  investigator  of  compound  reactions 
has  to  encounter.  He  must  secure  thoroughly  practised  subjects, 
and  yet  take  care  that  their  practice  does  not  go  too  far. 

§ 97.  The  Function  of  the  Reaction  Experiment.  — The 

reaction,  as  we  have  described  it  in  preceding  Sections, 
is  an  artificial,  schematic,  simplified  action,  — an  action 
which  may  be  impulsive,  selective,  volitional  or  approxi- 
mately reflex,  as  the  experimenter  desires. 

For  psychological  purposes,  this  artificial  action  pre- 
sents many  advantages  over  the  action  of  real  life.  In 
the  first  place,  it  is  action  reduced  to  its  lowest  terms. 
The  stimulus  which  starts  it,  and  the  movement  with 
which  it  ends,  are  both  exceedingly  simple.  In  the  second 
place,  it  is  pure  action,  action  unmixed  with  any  other 
complex  conscious  experience.  It  follows  from  these  two 
facts  that,  under  the  conditions  of  the  reaction  experi- 
ment, the  subject  can  introspect  the  action-consciousness 
in  a way  which  is  altogether  impossible  under  ordinary 
circumstances.  Thirdly,  the  reaction  is  action,  the  precise 
duration  of  which  is  recorded.  This  fact  also  is  an  aid 
to  introspection.  Not  only,  that  is,  has  the  reactor  the 


334  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experiment 

means  of  complete  introspective  control  of  his  action : 
the  experimenter,  who  notes  the  time  which  the  reaction 
takes,  can  assist  him  by  the  information  that  the  times 
are  different  in  this  and  the  other  case,  and  that  there- 
fore the  processes  constituting  the  action-consciousness 
in  those  cases  must  have  been  different. 

This,  then,  is  what  we  may  call  the  intrinsic  function 
of  the  reaction  experiment,  — to  bring  together  the  pro- 
cesses which  make  up  the  action-consciousness,  under 
conditions  which  are  as  favourable  as  possible  to  their 
introspection.  Incidentally,  however,  the  reaction  method 
has  been  turned  to  account  in  various  ways  for  the  illus- 
tration of  other  psychological  facts  or  laws.  Thus  it  has 
been  found  that  the  ‘ cognition  ’ of  intensities  requires  a 
longer  time  than  the  ‘ cognition  ’ of  qualities  of  sensation. 
This  is  in  entire  agreement  with  a conclusion  at  which 
we  arrived  on  other  grounds,  — the  conclusion  that  the 
quality  of  a sensation  is  its  ‘ absolute  ’ attribute,  while  the 
other  attributes  are  only  relative  or  comparative  (§  26). 
The  reaction  method  has  also  been  employed  to  compare 
different  clangs  with  respect  to  their  unitariness  or  single- 
ness of  effect.  It  is  found  that  we  cognise  a minor  third 
(c-ile)  more  quickly  than  we  cognise  the  corresponding 
major  third  (c-e).  The  minor  third,  that  is,  is  less  single, 
less  unitary,  a less  complete  ‘fusion’  than  the  major  (§  49). 
Again,  the  reaction  method  allows  us  to  follow  with  great 
accuracy  the  course  of  expectation,  practice  and  fatigue, 
— processes  which,  as  we  have  seen  (§§  10,  etc.),  are  of  ex- 
treme importance,  owing  to  their  marked  influence  upon 
introspection  in  general. 

We  have  a good  illustration  of  this  ‘ incidental  ’ value  of  the 
reaction  experiment  in  the  figures  quoted  above,  § 95  (1)  (r). 


§ 98.  The  Association  Reaction  335 

The  naming  of  an  unknown  colour  required  250 a-;  the  naming 
of  an  unknown  letter  or  short  word,  no  more  than  90  and  70  <r 
respectively.  The  reactors  in  these  experiments  stated  that  it 
was  easier  to  name  letters  and  words  than  colours,  and  especially 
such  equivocal  colours  as  rose,  brown  and  violet.  A statement  of 
this  kind,  borne  out  as  it  is  by  the  chronoscope  figures,  throws 
light  upon  what  we  may  call  the  mechanism  of  mind. 

This  fact,  that  it  is  easier  to  name  a word  than  a colour,  may 
seem  to  conflict  with  the  fact,  previously  noticed  (§  94),  that  it  is 
easier  to  cognise  a colour  than  a word.  There  is  no  contradic- 
tion, however.  It  is  easy  to  cognise  a colour  because  the  colour 
stimulus  presents  a uniform  surface,  and  asks  but  little  of  the 
active  attention.  The  word-stimulus,  on  the  other  hand,  is  com- 
posed of  letters,  which  may  be  very  much  alike,  and  which  are 
both  small  and  discontinuous.  It  therefore  puts  a greater  strain 
upon  the  visual  attention  of  the  reactor. 

There  is,  finally,  one  complex  mental  process  for  the 
investigation  of  which  the  reaction  experiment  is  espe- 
cially valuable.  This  is  the  successive  association  of 
ideas.  The  method  of  reaction  has  proved  so  useful  in 
the  study  of  the  successive  association,  that  psychologists 
have  distinguished  a special  type  of  compound  reaction, 
the  ‘association  reaction.’  We  will  devote  a Section  to 
its  consideration. 

§ 98.  The  Association  Reaction.  — • In  this  experiment,  the 
reactor  is  told  that  he  will  be  shown  a letter,  colour,  etc., 
and  that  he  is  to  withhold  the  reaction  movement  until 
some  one,  two,  etc.,  ideas  have  arisen  in  his  mind  at  the 
suggestion  of  the  stimulus.  The  association  reaction,  that 
is,  is  an  extension  of  the  cognition  reaction : the  stimulus, 
which  is  unknown  to  the  reactor  at  the  beginning  of  the 
experiment,  must  be  cognised,  and  then  succeeded  in  con- 
sciousness by  another,  centrally  aroused  idea. 


336  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experiment 

The  successive  association  introduced  into  the  course 
of  the  reaction  experiment  may  be  (i)  an  association  of 
the  kind  occurring  in  the  train  of  ideas,  or  (2)  an  associa- 
tion after  disjunction. 

(1)  The  first  type  of  association  presents  three  typical  forms. 
We  may  leave  the  reactor  entirely  free,  directing  him  to  wait  until 
the  stimulus  has  suggested  some  idea,  but  not  limiting  the  asso- 
ciation in  any  way.  He  has  to  ‘ think  of  something  ’ before  he 
reacts ; but  nothing  is  said  as  to  what  the  thought  must  be.  An 
association  of  this  sort  is  termed  a ‘ free  ’ association.  Secondly, 
we  may  restrict  the  range  of  association  somewhat,  telling  the 
reactor  that  he  is  to  think  of  something  which  stands  to  the  stimu- 
lus as  part  to  whole,  as  attribute,  as  instance,  etc.  Thus  if  the 
stimulus  were  the  word  ‘ chair,’  the  idea  suggested  might  be  chair- 
seat  or  chair-leg  (part  to  whole),  comfortable  (attribute),  the  reac- 
tion chair  (instance),  etc.  An  association  of  this  sort  is  termed  a 
‘ partially  constrained  ’ association.  Thirdly,  the  association  may 
be  altogether  ‘ constrained.’  We  may  tell  the  reactor  that  he  is  to 
name  the  given  stimulus,  if  it  be  a colour ; to  translate  it  into 
another  language,  if  it  be  a word,  etc.  In  such  cases  there  is  no 
choice ; the  association  is  constrained  to  follow  one  special  line. 

When  we  put  a question  to  which  there  is  an  unlimited  num- 
ber of  answers,  the  answer  actually  given  is  a ‘ free  ’ association. 
When  we  put  a question  which  admits  of  several  answers,  but  not 
of  an  unlimited  number,  the  answer  given  is  a partially  constrained 
association.  When  we  ask  a question  to  which  only  a single 
answer  can  be  returned,  we  get  a constrained  association.  Ques- 
tions of  these  three  kinds  are  asked,  as  it  were,  by  the  stimuli  in 
the  association  experiment. 

(a)  Free  Associations.  — The  average  time  of  reaction  which 
includes  these  associations,  in  cases  where  the  stimulus  used  is 
a short  word,  is  1 sec.  We  must  subtract  from  this  total  time 
2700-  for  the  simple  sensorial  reaction,  and  500-  for  the  ‘cogni- 
tion ’ of  the  stimulus.  This  leaves  us  with  680  0-  as  the  time  taken 
by  the  association  alone. 


§ 98.  The  Association  Reaction 


337 


(b)  Partially  constrained  Associations.  — The  duration  of  this 
type  of  association  varies  very  greatly,  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  stimulus  and  the  character  of  the  directions  given  to  the 
reactor.  Thus  if  the  word  ‘ chair  ’ is  shown,  and  the  reactor 
required  to  think  of  some  part  of  it,  the  range  of  possible  asso- 
ciations is  very  limited  : a chair  has  at  most  only  back,  legs,  arms 
and  seat.  In  such  experiments  the  whole  association  reaction 
does  not  require  more  than  from  650  to  8500-,  i.e.,  the  association 
itself  takes  place  in  330-5300-.  If  the  stimulus  word  had  been 
less  familiar,  and  the  range  of  possible  association  similarly  limited, 
the  time  would  have  been  much  greater.  Suppose,  e.g.,  that  the 
word  ‘ pen  ’ is  shown,  and  the  reactor  required  to  think  of  a par- 
ticular kind  of  pen.  He  is  probably  familiar  with  half-a-dozen 
different  varieties ; but  if  he  has  not  given  much  attention  to 
them,  it  may  take  him  a relatively  long  time  to  call  any  special 
sort  to  mind. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  word  ‘white’  is  shown,  and  the  re- 
actor required  to  think  of  some  substantive  to  which  the  adjective 
is  applicable,  the  range  of  possible  associations  is  very  large.  In 
such  cases,  there  is  very  little  difference  between  the  duration  of 
the  partially  constrained  and  of  the  free  association. 

(c)  Constrained  Associations.  — A constrained  association, 
like  the  more  restricted  type  of  partially  constrained  associations, 
may  require  a very  short  or  a very  long  time,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  stimulus.  Suppose,  eg.,  that  names  of  countries  are 
being  shown,  and  the  reactor  is  associating  their  capital  towns  to 
them.  The  capital  of  France  would  come  to  consciousness  almost 
automatically  (§  96),  in  perhaps  300 a;  the  word  ‘Paris’  is  one 
of  the  supplementary  ideas  which  we  ordinarily  associate  simul- 
taneously to  the  word  ‘ France.’  But  it  might  take  us  a full  700  cr 
to  think  of  the  capital  of  Siam  or  of  Corea. 

(2)  The  second  type  of  association,  association  after  dis- 
junction, can  be  introduced  into  the  course  of  the  reaction  ex- 
periment only  in  its  most  familiar  form,  as  a simple  judgment. 
Thus  the  reactor  may  be  told  : ‘ You  will  be  shown  words,  names 
of  objects,  and  you  are  not  to  react  till  you  have  thought  of  the 
most  important  part  of  each  object.’  Then,  if  the  word  ‘chair’ 
z 


338  Synthesis  of  Action.  Reaction  Experiment 

is  shown,  he  cannot  associate  to  it  the  first  part  of  a chair  which 
comes  to  his  mind,  but  must  let  his  attention  play  upon  the  whole 
idea  of  chair,  and  select  the  most  important  part.  He  must  pass 
a simple  judgment.  It  is  found  that  a reaction  of  this  kind  lasts 
about  1500-  longer  than  a ‘free  association’  reaction. 

The  value  of  the  association  reaction,  like  that  of  the  reaction 
experiment  in  general,  is  twofold.  In  the  first  place,  it  gives 
opportunity  for  the  introspection  of  the  associative  consciousness. 
In  the  second  place,  it  confirms,  in  an  objective  way,  many  of  the 
facts  with  regard  to  association  which  introspection  had  revealed. 
Thus  we  learn  that  it  takes  longer  to  argue  deductively  than  to 
argue  inductively  ] it  is  less  easy  to  illustrate  a principle  than  to 
build  up  a theory  from  individual  facts.  Again,  the  time  required 
for  various  free  associations  are  indications  of  the  reactor’s  in- 
tellectual temperament  or  constitution  (§  54);  and  so  on. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  natural,  untrained  reactions,  made 
without  introspection  in  various  sense-departments,  would  furnish 
indications  of  the  dominant  memory-types  (§  75)  of  the  reacting 
subjects.  The  ‘visual’  thinker  would  react  most  quickly  to  a 
visual  stimulus,  the  ‘ auditory  ’ thinker  to  an  auditory,  etc.  The 
suggestion  deserves  careful  testing  : the  results  obtained  so  far 
are  ambiguous. 


CONCLUSION 


CHAPTER  XV 

The  Ultimate  Nature  of  Mind.  Mind  and  Body 

§ 99.  The  Mind  of  Psychology.  — We  defined  psychology, 
at  the  outset  of  our  enquiry,  as  the  science  of  mental  pro- 
cesses. Mind,  we  said,  is  the  sum  total  of  mental  pro- 
cesses experienced  during  a lifetime;  or,  if  looked  at  from 
our  own  special  point  of  view,  the  sum  total  of  mental 
processes  experienced  between  the  limits  of  childhood 
and  senility. 

We  have,  however,  more  than  once  had  occasion  to 
notice  the  fact  that  in  popular  thought  and  language  mind 
is  something  more  than  a sum  of  mental  processes  : that 
it  is  regarded  as  a permanent  background,  against  which 
the  processes  stand  out,  or  an  active  and  directive  prin- 
ciple, by  which  the  processes  are  originated  or  regulated. 
We  have  ourselves  refused  as  psychologists  to  accept  the 
popular  view,  and  have  kept  within  the  limits  laid  down 
by  our  definition.  But  now  that  our  survey  of  mental 
processes  is  concluded,  we  may  pause  for  a moment  to  ask 
whether  our  rejection  is  warranted,  or  whether  there  is 
not  this  one  question  that  still  remains  to  be  examined, 
this  one  important  psychological  problem  which  we  have 
ignored,  and  which  nevertheless  calls  for  explanation. 

It  is  to  be  noted  in  the  first  place  that,  whether  we  have 
or  have  not  faced  all  the  questions  that  a psychologist  is  in 
duty  bound  to  face,  we  have,  so  far  as  we  have  gone,  justi- 

339 


340  Ultimate  Nature  of  Mind.  Muid  and  Body 

fied  the  claim  of  psychology  to  be  called  a science.  We 
have  ascertained  the  nature  and  attributes  of  the  simplest 
mental  functions  and  processes,  and  of  the  bodily  func- 
tions and  processes  to  which  they  correspond  ; we  have 
seen  how  the  developed  mind  is  built  up  from  its  elements ; 
we  have  found  that  there  are  psychological  laws,  uniform- 
ities of  mental  occurrence,  which  have  as  their  condi- 
tion certain  physiological  laws,  uniformities  of  occurrence 
within  the  living  body,  etc.  In  short,  we  have  proved 
that  mental  phenomena  can  be  arranged  in  as  orderly  and 
systematic  fashion  as  the  phenomena  dealt  with  by  phy- 
sics or  physiology.  There  is  no  fact  of  mind,  as  we  have 
defined  mind,  which  has  resisted  our  methods  of  investi- 
gation ; no  process  of  which  we  have  been  compelled  to 
say  ‘ We  cannot  see  any  hope  of  accounting  for  this ; it 
contradicts  what  we  have  previously  said.’ — It  may  per- 
haps be,  then,  that  we  have  neglected  a question  which 
we  should  have  raised.  But,  so  far  as  we  have  asked 
questions,  we  have  been  able  to  offer  consistent  answers. 

In  the  second  place,  however,  there  does  remain  the 
doubt  whether  our  definition  of  mind  is  warranted;  whether 
we  should  not  take  up  the  popular  view  of  mind,  and  try 
to  give  reasons  for  it,  — to  reconcile  it  with  our  psychology, 
if  reconciliation  is  possible  ; to  show  cause  for  persisting 
in  our  opinions,  if  reconciliation  is  impossible.  Is  there 
not  a mind,  behind  mental  processes  ? Is  not  mind  active  ? 
Is  not  mind  single,  unitary,  — continuous  and  not  disjointed, 
coherent  existence  and  not  a mere  aggregate  of  discon- 
nected consciousnesses  ? 

These  are  all  important  questions.  If  psychology  can 
reply  to  them,  and  if  our  psychology  has  not  replied  to 
them,  then  most  certainly  our  procedure  has  been  un- 


§ 99-  The  Mind  of  Psychology  341 

warranted,  and  our  description  of  mind  is  one-sided  and 
incomplete.  But  can  psychology  reply  to  them  ? Let  us 
consider  them  in  order.  — In  doing  this  we  must  remember 
always  that,  within  the  sphere  of  psychology,  introspec- 
tion is  the  final  and  only  court  of  appeal,  that  psychologi- 
cal evidence  cannot  be  other  than  introspective  evidence. 
On  this  point  all  psychologists  would  be  agreed. 

(1)  There  is  no  psychological  evidence  of  a mind  which 
lies  behind  mental  processes.  Introspection  reveals  no 
trace  of  it : whenever  we  look  inward,  we  find  nothing  but 
processes,  of  varying  degrees  of  complexity.  Yet  many 
psychologists  believe  in  the  existence  of  a mind,  distinct 
from  mental  processes.  Here  is  a riddle,  then,  which 
psychology  is  plainly  unable  to  read. 

(2)  There  is  no  psychological  evidence  of  a mental 
* activity,’  above  or  behind  the  stream  of  conscious  pro- 
cesses (Ch.  VI).  Yet  many  psychologists  believe  in  its 
existence.  Here,  again,  is  a fact  which  cannot  be  ex- 
plained by  psychology. 

(3)  There  is  no  psychological  evidence  of  mental  con- 
tinuity and  coherence  which  cannot  be  met  by  evidence  of 
a contrary  tenor.  It  is  true  that  memory-ideas  connect  the 
present  with  the  past ; but  it  is  equally  true  that  one  con- 
sciousness may  be  succeeded  by  another  which  is  totally 
different  from  it.  It  is  true  that  organic  sensations,  often 
pleasant  or  unpleasant,  are  constituents  of  all  my  conscious- 
nesses ; and  that  I am  always  called  by  the  same  name, 
always  treated  as  the  same  self.  Yet  I know  from  those 
very  persons  who  call  me  by  one  and  the  same  name  that 
I have  ‘ forgotten  ’ many  incidents  of  my  life  ; and  I know 
that  my  selfhood  lapses  every  night  in  sleep ; — I know, 
that  is,  that  there  are  great  gaps  in  my  mental  experi- 


342  Ultimate  Nature  of  Mind.  Muid  and  Body 

ence.  Psychology  cannot  reconcile  the  conflicting  testi- 
mony. 

The  three  questions,  then,  are  not  to  be  answered  by  an 
appeal  to  introspection.  Nor  are  they  answered  by  any 
other  special  science,  — e.g.,  by  biology.  They  cannot  be 
answered  till  we  have  brought  together  the  facts  of  psy- 
chology and  the  facts  of  other  sciences : the  facts  of  the 
natural  sciences,  physics  and  chemistry  and  physiology 
and  the  rest,  on  the  one  hand ; and  the  facts  of  the 
remaining  philosophical  sciences,  ethics  and  logic  and 
aesthetics  and  the  rest,  on  the  other.  Now  this  co-ordina- 
tion of  all  kinds  of  scientific  facts  belongs  to  metaphysics. 
Our  three  questions,  therefore,  must  be  handed  over  to 
the  metaphysician. 

§ ioo.  Mind  and  Body.  — We  have  laid  it  down  as  a rule 
without  exception  that  every  mental  process  has  as  its 
condition  a bodily  process,  some  change  in  the  centra] 
nervous  system  and,  more  particularly,  in  the  cerebral 
cortex.  “No  psychosis  without  neurosis:”  there  is  no 
mental  state  which  has  not  a peculiar  nervous  state  cor- 
responding to  it. 

This  rule  — the  principle  of  ‘psychophysical  parallel- 
ism,’ as  it  is  termed  — is  simply  a statement  of  fact,  not 
an  explanation  of  the  relation  of  mind  and  body.  The 
bodily  process  explains  the  corresponding  mental  process, 
because  it  is  the  condition  under  which  the  mental  process 
appears  (§  4).  But  the  principle  of  parallelism  does  not 
explain  itself : it  takes  mind  for  granted,  in  the  psycho- 
logical sense ; and  it  takes  body  for  granted,  in  the  physio- 
logical definition  of  ‘body.’  It  merely  says:  Where  there 
is  a mental  process,  there  is  also  a process  in  a living 
body. 


§ ioo.  Mind  and  Body 


343 


It  is  clear,  however,  that  we  have  a right  to  ask  for 
something  more  than  this  bare  statement  of  fact ; we  have 
a right  to  ask  how  mind  and  body  are  related  in  the  world 
at  large,  how  they  stand  to  each  other  in  the  general 
order  of  events  in  the  universe.  This  enquiry,  like  the 
questions  concerning  the  ultimate  nature  of  mind,  belongs 
to  metaphysics.  We  shall  do  no  good,  but  rather  confuse 

ourselves,  if  we  attempt  to  introduce  it  into  psychology; 

Especially  must  we  be  careful  to  avoid,  as  psychologists, 
the  popular  view  that  bodily  states  are  the  causes  of 
mental,  and  mental  states  the  causes  of  bodily : that  a 
ray  of  light  is  the  cause  of  a sensation  of  sight,  or  an  im- 
pulse the  cause  of  a physical  movement.  The  word 
‘cause’  has  a very  definite  meaning,  — a meaning  which  we 
have  no  right  to  read  into  the  phenomena  of  parallelism, 
— and  a definitely  restricted  sphere  of  application. 

(i)  ‘Cause  ’ is  defined  by  the  three  concepts  of  time-sequence, 
invariability  and  equivalence.  The  effect  follows  the  cause ; the 
effect  always  follows  the  cause ; the  effect  is  equal  to  the  cause. 
Now  although  a mental  process  is  always  given  together  with  a 
bodily  process,  there  is  no  jot  of  evidence  to  show  that  the  two 
are  equal,  and  there  is  much  evidence  to  show  that  they  are 
simultaneous  and  not  successive.  Hence  it  is  plainly  wrong  to 
say  that  a bodily  state  is  the  cause  of  a mental  state,  ■ — - unless  we 
arbitrarily  alter  the  meaning  of  the  term  ‘ cause  ’ to  fit  our  problem. 
(2)  Logic  does  not  allow  us  to  reason  from  one  kind  of  fact  to 
another.  It  is  fallacious  to  say  that  because  a man  is  a good  hus- 
band and  father,  therefore  he  will  be  a good  monarch,  — to  argue, 
i.e.,  from  domestic  virtue  (one  kind  of  fact)  to  political  ability 
(another  kind).  Mental  processes  are  facts  of  one  kind;  bodily 
processes  facts  of  quite  another  kind.  It  may  be  that  metaphysics 
would  bring  the  two  orders  of  fact  together ; but  it  is  not  allow- 
able to  do  so  within  the  limits  of  a special  science. 


344  Ultimate  Nature  of  Mind.  Mind  and  Body 

§ ioi.  The  Mind  of  Metaphysics.  — We  might  consider 
that  our  task  is  now  completed.  We  have  our  science 
in  outline  before  us ; the  problems  that  arise  out  of  it 
we  have  passed  on  to  another  philosophical  discipline,  to 
metaphysics.  Nevertheless,  it  is  not  satisfactory  to  ask 
questions  and  receive  no  sort  of  answer.  We  will  con- 
clude, then,  with  a glance  at  the  opinions  of  modern 
metaphysicians  upon  the  point  at  issue. 

The  given  fact  from  which  a theory  of  the  universe 
must  set  out  is  the  concrete,  individual  human  experience. 
This  experience  is  at  first  neither  subjective  nor  objective, 
neither  experience  of  the  self  nor  experience  of  the  world, 
the  not-self.  It  is  single  and  undifferentiated.  By  slow 
degrees,  however,  it  divides  into  halves:  subject  and  object 
stand  over  against  each  other,  as  separate  things,  the  ob- 
ject taking  shape  much  more  quickly  and  definitely  than 
the  subject  (cf  § i).  When  the  division  has  been  com- 
pleted, and  mankind  has  reached  a sufficiently  high  stage 
of  development,  each  half  is  taken  as  the  basis  of  a group 
of  special  sciences.  The  objective  half  is  abstracted  from 
the  whole  and  worked  up  in  the  natural  or  physical  sci- 
ences : the  subjective  half  is  abstracted  from  the  whole 
and  worked  up  in  the  mental  or  philosophical  disciplines. 
The  former  treat  of  experience,  by  abstraction,  as  inde- 
pendent of  the  experiencer : the  latter  treat  of  it,  by  a 
similar  abstraction,  solely  in  its  dependence  upon  the  ex- 
periencing individual. 

Metaphysics  is  the  science  (p.  1 1 8)  which  unifies  and 
harmonises  the  principles  and  laws  of  all  the  other  sci- 
ences. Its  task  is,  then,  to  take  the  conclusions  reached 
by  way  of  the  two  abstractions  from  experience  just  men- 
tioned, the  conclusions  of  both  the  natural  and  the  mental 


§ ioi.  The  Mijid  of  Metaphysics 


345 


sciences,  and  in  their  light  to  explain  the  given  fact  from 
which  they  are  derived,  the  concrete  experience.  — The  task 
of  epistemology  or  ‘ theory  of  knowledge  ’ is  to  explain 
how  this  concrete  experience,  originally  one,  has  come  to 
be  divided  up  under  an  objective  and  a subjective  aspect. 

Metaphysics  has,  at  different  times,  returned  four  dif- 
ferent answers  to  the  question  of  the  real  nature  of  the 
concrete  experience.  (i)  It  has  said  that  the  ultimate 
reality  is  mental  ; that  the  objectivity  of  experience  is 
illusory  (idealism).  (2)  It  has  said  that  the  ultimate 
reality  is  material ; that  the  subjectivity  of  experience  is 
illusory  (materialism).  (3)  It  has  said  that  the  problem 
of  recombining  the  two  halves  of  experience,  the  objec- 
tive and  the  subjective,  is  too  difficult  for  solution  at  the 
present  stage  of  human  knowledge ; that  we  must  be 
content  to  wait  for  a reconciliation  till  we  know  more 
(dualism).  And  (4)  it  has  said  that  union  is  possible 
and  necessary : but  that  the  reality  is  neither  mental  nor 
material,  but  something  different  from  either  (monism). 

Materialism  is  no  longer  current  as  a metaphysical  the- 
ory : the  other  three  hypotheses  hold  their  own  to-day  in 
philosophical  thinking.  Which  of  them  is  the  most  prob- 
able must  be  decided  by  each  one  for  himself.  If,  how- 
ever, we  are  seeking  guidance  from  authority,  we  shall 
turn  naturally  to  the  works  of' Hermann  Lotze,  — a man 
who  not  only  exercised  a greater  influence  upon  general 
philosophical  thought  than  any  other  philosopher  of  the 
last  generation,  but  who  also  did  much  to  advance  the  spe- 
cial cause  of  modern  psychology.  Lotze,  although  he  defi- 
nitely rejects  the  idea  of  mind  as  a substantial  something 
underlying  its  manifestations,  and  tries  to  conceive  of  it 
as  the  ‘ concrete  law  ’ of  these  ‘ manifestations,’  never- 


346  Ultimate  Nature  of  Mind.  Mind  and  Body 

theless  takes  up  a position  of  thorough-going  idealism 
in  metaphysics.  On  the  question  of  the  ultimate  nature, 
and  especially  of  the  unity  of  mental  experience,  he 
writes  as  follows : 

“ It  is  impossible  to  speak  of  a bare  movement  without  thinking 
of  the  mass  whose  movement  it  is ; and  it  is  just  as  impossible  to 
conceive  a sensation  existing  without  the  accompanying  idea  of 
that  which  has  it.  . . . Any  comparison  of  two  ideas  which  ends 
by  our  finding  their  contents  like  or  unlike,  presupposes  the  abso- 
lute indivisibility  of  that  which  compares  them.  . . . And  so  our 
whole  inner  world  of  thoughts  is  built  up  ; not  as  a mere  collection 
of  manifold  ideas  existing  with  or  after  one  another,  but  as  a world 
in  which  these  individual  members  are  held  together  and  arranged 
by  the  relating  activity  of  this  single  pervading  principle.  This 
then  is  what  we  mean  by  the  unity  of  consciousness  : and  it  is  this 
which  we  regard  as  the  sufficient  ground  for  assuming  an  indivisi- 
ble mind.  '.  . . It  is  only  an  indivisible  unity  which  can  produce 
or  experience  effects  at  all.  . . . Every  judgment,  whatever  it 
may  assert,  testifies  by  the  mere  fact  that  it  is  pronounced  at  all, 
to  the  indivisible  unity  of  the  subject  which  utters  it.”1 

These  are  the  words  of  a man  who  was  both  a psy- 
chologist and  a metaphysician.  It  is  evident,  however, 
that  Lotze  is  speaking  here  not  from  the  point  of  view 
of  introspection,  but  from  that  of  metaphysics.  And 
speaking  from  this  standpoint  he  uses  expressions,  some, 
at  least,  of  which  indicate  a belief  which  is  not  very  far 
different  from  the  view  of  mind  taken  by  popular  thought. 
The  difference  is  that  the  philosopher  can  give  reasons 
for  his  opinions,  whereas  ’in  popular  thinking  a current 
or  traditional  belief  is  accepted  unreasoningly ; and  that 
the  philosopher  knows  that  he  is  attacking  a metaphysical 
problem,  whereas  popular  thinking  draws  no  line  of  dis- 
tinction between  metaphysics  and  psychology. 

1 H.  Lotze:  Metaphysic.  2d  ed.  Oxford,  1887.  Vol.  II.,  pp.  169  fif.,  175  f., 
190.  I have  followed  the  English  trans.,  with  the  single  exception  that  I 
have  rendered  Seele  by  mind. — Cf.  the  corresponding  passages  in  the  Micro - 
cosmus.  3d  ed.  Edinburgh,  1888.  Vol.  I,  Bk,  ii,  chs.  i.  ii.;  bk.  iii.  ch.  i. 


INDEX 


Abstraction,  process  of,  303 ; see  Idea, 
abstract. 

Action,  instance  of  an,  8,  22 ; said  to  give 
evidence  of  mental  activity,  121 ; defi- 
nition and  analysis  of,  237;  upon  pres- 
entation, 239,  243;  condition  of,  239; 
upon  representation,  240,  243;  stages 
in  impulsive,  240;  reflex,  development 
of,  248,  250;  instinctive,  253;  instinc- 
tive vs.  impulsive,  253;  selective,  254; 
volitional,  255;  automatic,  256 ; forms 
of,  257 ; synthesis  of,  319 ; see  Reaction. 

Activity,  alleged  fact  of  mental  experi- 
ence, 1 19,  120,  341 ; inferred  from  men- 
tal experience,  117,  120,  292;  supposed 
physiological  condition  of,  as  mental 
process,  120;  said  to  be  present  in 
effort,  121 ; in  active  attention,  129 ; 
see  Mind. 

^Esthetic  sentiments,  of  beauty,  307;  of 
sublimity,  311 ; of  the  tragic  and  comic, 
311;  classification  of,  312;  basis  of, 
312  : in  literature,  316. 

Affection  (conscious  element),  instance 
of  its  investigation,  25 ; contrast  of 
qualities,  56,  219  ; definition  of,  94,  101 ; 
bodily  correlates  of,  93,  100,  103,  106 ; 
qualities  of,  94,  105 ; relation  of,  to 
sensation,  96,  98,  99,  100;  central  and 
peripheral,  97,  99,  108;  methods  of 
investigating,  102,  103,  224,  318 ; de- 
scription of,  101 ; attributes  of,  105 ; 
and  stimulus,  106;  intensity  of,  107; 
duration  of,  107 ; Weber's  law  for,  107 ; 
in  effort,  124;  relation  of,  to  attention, 
133,  146,  239,  260;  cannot  serve  as 
associative  link,  229;  cannot  be  di- 
rectly revived,  281. 

Affection,  as  emotion,  232,  impulse,  247. 

After-image,  duration  of,  73  ; function  of, 
in  the  time  sense,  85 ; in  the  idea  of 
movement,  168. 


Analysis,  the  beginning  of  science,  1 ; is 
at  first  analysis  of  the  outward,  2;  in 
psychology,  9,  12,  14,  60 ; of  idea,  68, 
150,  288;  in  association  after  disjunc- 
tion, 205,  303,  304;  of  conation,  122; 
of  attention,  129 ; of  emotion,  219,  229  ; 
of  action,  237, 324,  326 ; of  recognition, 
263  ; of  memory,  271 ; of  sentiment,  304. 

Aristotle,  163. 

Association,  instance  of  a successive,  7 ; 
nature  of,  188;  forms  of,  189,  190,  211; 
misleading  character  of  the  term,  190; 
simultaneous,  191, 284 ; associative  sup- 
plementing, 194,  206,  208,  277 ; attri- 
butes of  simultaneous,  196 ; verbal 
association,  198,  208;  illusions,  200; 
successive,  202,  284;  train  of  ideas, 
203,  209 ; after  disjunction,  205,  209, 
296;  hallucination,  fallacy,  delusion, 
207;  law  of,  208,  211;  formula  of,  210, 
230 ; conditions  of,  210,  242 ; alleged 
law  of,  for  feelings,  229  ; secondary,  in 
abstract  ideas,  298 ; free,  duration  of, 
336 ; partially  constrained,  duration  of, 
337;  constrained,  duration  of,  337; 
after  disjunction,  duration  of,  338 ; re- 
action, value  of,  338. 

Attention,  variations  of,  8;  importance 
of,  33,  39,  T25 ; to  affection,  impossible, 
99;  forms  of,  126;  passive,  126,  130; 
active,  127,  130,  305 ; said  to  give  evi- 
dence of  activity  as  mental  process, 
128 ; effort  in,  129 ; development  of 
active  from  passive,  131 ; of  passive 
from  active,  132,  236,  312,  317,  332; 
change  of  ideas  in,  132;  and  affection, 
133,  146 ; final  analysis  of,  134 ; attri- 
butes of,  135  ; quality  of,  135  ; intensity 
of,  136;  duration  of,  136,  140;  extent 
of,  136 ; degree  of,  137  ; fluctuations  of, 
141,  142;  range  of,  144,  174;  simulta- 
neous, to  disparate  stimuli,  147;  ill 
selective  action,  255 ; see  Reaction, 


348 


Index 


Auditory  sensations,  quality  of,  50;  of 
tone,  50;  of  noise,  51 ; total  number 
of,  51;  explanation  of,  52 ; relation  of 
tone  to  noise,  53 ; contrast  of,  56 ; 
Weber's  law  for,  81 ; ideas  founded 
upon,  130,  152;  and  temporal  ideas, 
172;  and  affection,  215,308;  reaction 
to,  320,  325,  326. 

Averages,  their  value  in  psychology,  41 ; 
average  and  mean  variation,  in  reac- 
tion experiments,  327. 

Biology,  its  importance  for  psychology, 
98,  hi,  116,  130,  183,  252. 

Blind  spot,  problem  of,  165. 

Body,  why  psychology  treats  of  it,  16 ; 
and  the  idea  of  self,  289 ; and  mind, 
342,  344- 

Buridan,  258. 

Cause,  body  and  mind  not  causally  re- 
lated, 343;  definition  of,  343;  sphere 
of  causation,  343. 

Clang,  a qualitative  idea,  176,  180;  sim- 
ple and  compound,  177 ; composition 
of,  177;  clang-tint,  179;  of  human 
voice,  179;  tonal  fusion  in,  177,  180, 
334 1 reaction  to,  334. 

Cognition,  development  of,  from  recog- 
nition, 266;  analysis  of,  267;  devel- 
opment of,  from  memory,  278 ; see 
Reaction. 

Colours,  primary,  49;  principal,  50; 
mixture  of,  50;  aesthetics  0^309,313; 
cognition  of,  329,  335. 

Common  sensation,  quality  of  pain,  65 ; 
always  local,  96.  [301,  302. 

Comparison,  process  of,  301 ; mood  in, 

Complication  experiments,  147. 

Conation,  definition  of,  120;  see  Effort. 

Concept,  definition  of,  297 ; see  Lan- 
guage. 

Conscious  elements,  definition  of,  13 ; 
are  never  experienced  singly,  13,  59, 
149,  213 ; are  processes,  15 ; total 
number  of  sensations,  67 ; affection, 
94, 101 ; is  there  a third  ? 116, 119,  120. 

Consciousness,  popular  view  of,  4 ; scien- 
tific view  of,  11  ; artificial  and  natural, 
11 ; always  complex,  13,  59, 150 ; never 
wholly  affective,  213. 

Curiosity,  sentiment  of,  1,  315. 


Cutaneous  sensations,  quality  of,  56;  of 
pressure,  56,  66,  151 ; of  temperature, 
58 ; of  pain,  56,  65 ; Weber's  law  for, 
81;  their  part  in  ideas,  152;  and  spa- 
tial ideas,  155,  157,  159,  164,  169 ; and 
temporal  ideas,  172, 175  ; and  affection, 
217  ; reaction  to,  325,  326. 

Darwin , 21. 

Description,  part  of  the  problem  of  psy- 
chology, 17;  of  affection,  difficult,  101. 

Discrimination,  process  of, ’301;  see 
Weber's  law,  Eye  measurement,  Time 
sense,  Reaction. 

Disposition,  importance  of  general,  40; 
functional,  277  ; see  Mental  constitution. 

Distance,  idea  of,  159,  194,  197. 

Duration,  of  sensation,  30,  68  ; minimal, 
of  sensation,  73, 74 ; maximal,  of  sensa- 
tion, 76;  as  attribute  of  sensation,  76 ; 
of  sensation,  estimation  of,  sec  Time 
sense  ; of  affection,  107  ; of  attention, 
136,  140 ; its  part  in  ideas,  153 ; of  re- 
action, 325,  326,  329,  331,  333;  of  suc- 
cessive association,  336. 

Effort,  said  to  give  evidence  of  mental 
activity,  121 ; found  in  different  mental 
settings,  122;  analysis  of,  122;  some- 
times termed  sensation  or  feeling,  124 ; 
degrees  of,  124;  in  active  attention, 
129 ; in  passive  attention,  130 ; intensity 
of,  and  degree  of  attention,  137 ; in 
impulse,  245 ; in  selective  action,  255. 

Emotion,  instance  of,  13,  15;  conditions 
of,  219;  composition  of,  220;  feeling 
in,  221 ; organic  sensations  in,  221 ; 
forms  of,  221,  232 ; gives  place  to  indif- 
ference, 223 ; expression  of,  224,  229 ; 
attributes  of,  230 ; and  impulse,  245 ; 
and  sentiment,  304,  312,  317 ; quality 
of,  221,  230. 

Expectation,  error  of,  71,  72,  75,  81,  84, 
196,  200,  334. 

Experiment,  definition  of,  35 ; in  psy- 
chology, 35 ; see  Psychophysics,  meth- 
ods of. 

Explanation,  part  of  the  problem  of  psy- 
chology, 17 ; meaning  of,  17  ; Weber's 
law  and,  91. 

Expressive  movements,  instance  of,  22, 
224;  transference  of  facial,  226;  of 


Index 


349 


laughter,  228 ; psychological  value  of, 
230 ; and  impulse,  247 ; see  Emotion, 
Feeling,  Sentiment. 

Extent,  of  sensation,  30,  68  ; minimal,  of 
sensation,  72,  74 ; maximal,  of  sensa- 
tion, 75  ; as  attribute  of  sensation,  76; 
of  sensation,  estimation  of,  see  Eye 
measurement;  of  affection,  105;  of 
attention,  136,  144  ; of  associative  sup- 
plementing, 196. 

Eye  measurement,  law  of,  82 ; judgment 
in,  83;  see  Weber's  law. 

Eye  movement,  see  Organic  sensations 
and  spatial  ideas. 

Fatigue,  danger  of,  in  psychology,  39, 322, 
334- 

Feeling,  mixed  feelings,  96,  213 ; defini- 
tion of,  214 ; formula  of,  214 ; kinds  of, 
218,  229;  illusory,  219;  and  emotion, 
220 ; expression  of,  102,  103,  224,  260 ; 
and  impulse,  245. 

Form,  idea  of,  163;  superficial,  164; 
tridimensional,  164;  visual  and  tactual, 
compared,  165  ; aesthetics  of,  308,  313  ; 
of  the  idea,  as  basis  of  the  aesthetic 
sentiment,  314. 

Gustatory  sensations,  quality  of,  54 ; total 
number  of,  54  ; contrast  of,  55 ; rela- 
tion to  olfactory,  54 ; relation  to  cuta- 
neous, 54;  Weber’s  law  for,  81;  their 
part  in  ideas,  154, 180 ; and  feeling,  216. 

Habit,  effect  of,  upon  affection',  97,  103, 
215 ; mood  of,  267,  324 ; danger  of  au- 
tomatism, in  compound  reactions,  333. 

Hallucination,  a train  of  illusory  ideas, 
207. 

Idea,  thing  or  process  ? 6 ; always  com- 
plex, 26,  150 ; problem  of,  67,  148 ; 
classification  of,  151 ; extensive,  150, 
154;  temporal,  151,  172;  qualitative, 
151,  176,  180;  intensive,  153;  second- 
ary, 162, 194;  function  of,  183, 297 ; con- 
flict of,  138,  162, 173, 184 ; illusory,  184 ; 
and  simultaneous  association,  191 ; and 
perception,  148,  281;  affectively  toned, 
214;  indifferent,  215 ; of  pleasantness 
and  unpleasantness,  230 ; of  self,  288, 
290,292;  objectifies,  183,291 ; abstract, 


295,  297, 303 ; percept,  recept  and  con- 
cept, 297 ; aggregate,  290. 

Illusion,  optical,  185 ; of  simultaneous 
association,  200  ; factors  in,  200 ; affec- 
tive, 219;  of  memory  and  recognition, 
285  ; see  Idea,  illusory. 

Imagination,  instance  of,  29 ; nature  of, 
282,  284  ; reproductive,  282  ; construc- 
tive, 2834  'Snd  memory,  283;  and 
thought,  285. 

Impartiality,  necessary  in  introspection, 
38 ; see  Mental  constitution,  Expecta- 
tion, error  of. 

Impulse,  composition  of,  244;  and  feel- 
ing, 245;  and  emotion,  245,  247  ; classi- 
fication of,  246 ; in  selective  action,  255  ; 
in  the  simple  reaction,  323. 

Inaction,  nature  of,  92,  258 ; conditions 
of,  258. 

Inattention,  danger  of,  in  psychology,  39, 
104 ; as  obverse  of  brown  study,  138 ; 
constitutional,  138. 

Instinct,  composition  of,  253 ; develop- 
ment of,  253  ; instances  of  human,  254. 

Intellection,  definition  of,  293 ; forms  of, 
293- 

Intellectual  sentiments,  classification  of, 
315 ; objectify,  315 ; and  literature, 
317- 

Intensity,  of  sensation,  30,  68 ; of  com- 
plex processes,  32,  137 ; minimal,  of 
sensation,  70,  74 ; maximal,  of  sensa- 
tion, 74 ; as  attribute  of  sensation,  76 ; 
of  sensation,  estimation  of,  see  Weber's 
law ; of  affection,  107 ; of  attention, 
136,  137 ; of  stimulus,  influence  on  re- 
action, 327  ; reaction  to,  334. 

Introspection,  must  never  be  direct,  33 ; 
of  sensation,  rule  for,  33,  36 ; defects 
of,  and  their  remedies,  34;  the  only 
psychological  method,  37,  341 ; its  nec- 
essary conditions,  38,  104;  of  affection, 
rule  for,  102 ; gives  no  evidence  of 
mental  activity,  119,  123,  129. 

Judgment,  different  modes  of,  83,  87;  an 
association  after  disjunction,  207;  il- 
lusory, 207  ; as  elementary  intellection, 
293  ; and  concept,  297  ; in  constructive 
imagination,  284;  in  sentiment,  304, 
306 ; intrinsically  pleasant,  305  ; danger 
of  stereotyped,  306. 


350 


Index 


Language,  psychological  use  of,  36,  306; 
and  sensation,  45,  47,  50,  51,  54, 
101 ; and  affection,  102;  importance 
of  verbal  idea,  158,  199,  208,  230,  270, 
297,  298,  317;  and  emotion,  232. 

Laughter,  explanation  of,  228. 

Laura  Bridgman,  23. 

Literature,  instance  of  mixed  feelings  in, 
96 ; of  blunting  of  emotion  in,  223  ; of 
temperament  in,  233 ; sentiments  of,  316. 

Locality,  idea  of,  superficial,  154,  157 ; 
physiological  conditions  of  localisa- 
tion, 136;  local  sign,  157;  idea  of, 
tridimensional,  159;  importance  of 
vision  for,  162 ; auditory  localisation, 
197;  localisation  in  time,  see  Compli- 
cation ; Recognition. 

Locke , 2,  3. 

Lotze,  345,  346. 

Magnitude,  idea  ot,  163;  superficial,  164; 
tridimensional,  165 ; visual  and  tactual, 
165. 

Melody,  a qualitative  and  temporal  idea, 
180;  scale  in,  181 ; tonic  clang  in,  182 ; 
rhythm  in,  182;  illusion  of,  202. 

Memory,  instances  of,  8,  29;  involved  in 
introspection,  36;  and  recognition,’ 
270 ; analysis  of,  271 ; the  memory- 
idea,  271,  274;  types  of,  83,  274,  278, 
280 ; absolute  and  relative,  275 ; as 
retention,  275;  and  cognition,  278; 
investigation  of,  278  ; range  of,  280  ; of 
affection,  impossible,  281;  and  imagi- 
nation, 283 ; illusions  of,  285 ; and 
continuity  of  mental  experience,  241. 

Mental  constitution,  determined  by 
bodily  tendencies,  112;  methods  of 
investigating,  113;  indications  of,  114; 
intellectual,  205,  338;  affective,  233; 
and  selfhood,  287 ; idea  of,  114,  291 ; 
and  abstract  ideas,  296. 

Mental  pathology,  subject-matter  of,  18  ; 
and  psychology,  22;  instances  of,  16, 
23,  29,  60,  65,  67,  139,  207,  260,  275,  299. 

Mental  process,  definition  of,  3;  forms 
of,  7;  see  Sensation,  Idea,  etc. 

Mind,  popular  view  of,  4,  118,  292,  339; 
psychological  view  of,  9,  113,  294,  339; 
metaphysical  view  of,  9,  118,  344;  and 
self,  287;  threefold  division  of,  294; 
and  body,  12,  16,  24,  342,  346. 


Mood,  definition  of,  231 ; relation  of,  to 
emotion,  231;  in  recognition,  262;  in 
cognition,  267;  in  paramnesia,  286; 
in  comparison,  301 ; and  sentiment, 
316. 

Movement,  idea  of,  168,  174,259;  extent 
of,  168 ; rate  of,  174 ; of  whole  body, 
176;  voluntary  and  involuntary,  234; 
and  action,  238,  257 ; instinctive,  234, 
250;  and  alleged  innervation  sensa- 
tion, 233,  237  ; reflex,  249  ; not  caused 
by  mental  states,  343  ; see  Reaction. 

Music,  chords  and  discords,  176;  inter- 
vals, 178,  180  ■ melody,  180;  scale,  181; 
voice  is  primitive  instrument,  179,  182; 
aesthetics  of,  310. 

Olfactory  sensations,  quality  of,  33;  con- 
trast of,  56;  and  affection,  53,  216- 
their  part  in  ideas,  180. 

Organic  sensations,  quality  of,  39 ; mus- 
cular, 60;  tendinous,  61;  articular,  61 ; 
alimentary,. 62  ; circulatory,  respiratory, 
sexual,  63;  static,  63,  176;  pain,  65; 
Weber's  law  for,  81,  83,  182;  in  effort, 
122;  in  attention,  129;  their  part  in 
ideas,  132,  184 ; and  spatial  ideas,  62, 
156,  158,  159,  160,  164,  170,  171;  and 
temporal  ideas,  172, 175  ; and  affection, 
216;  in  emotion,  221 ; in  impulse,  245; 
and  instinctive  movement,  232;  and 
idea  of  self,  289;  tickling  and  senti- 
ment of  ludicrous,  311 ; and  continuity 
of  mental  experience,- 341. 

Pain,  as  organic  sensation,  63 ; not  im- 
portant for  formation  of  ideas,  131; 
popular  and  scientific  use  of  word,  96. 

Parallelism,  psychophysical,  342. 

Passion,  definition  of,  231;  two  uses  of 
term,  231. 

Perception,  instances  of  tactual,  56 ; does 
not  differ  from  idea,  148,  281 ; see 
Idea. 

Physiology,  and  psychophysics,  20 ; and 
psychology,  24,  103  ; and  Weber's  law, 
88 ; explains  the  change  of  ideas  in 
attention,  133,  134;  explains  intermit- 
tence  of  attention,  142;  and  localisa- 
tion, 136;  and  association,  212;  and 
emotion,  225  ; and  laughter,  228 ; of 
voluntary  movement,  236;  of  reflex 


Index 


35* 


movement,  250 ; of  retention,  277;  vi- 
talistic,  294. 

Practice,  value  of,  8,  39,  334 ; danger  of, 
333- 

Process,  and  thing,  5 ; see  Mental  process. 

Psychogenesis,  definition  of,  18  ; and  psy- 
chology, 21 ; see  Psychology. 

Psychology,  its  beginnings,  3 ; arises 
later  than  the  natural  sciences,  3 ; its 
definition,  5,  9;  is  a science,  6,  340; 
problem  of,  12,  17 ; animal,  17,  139, 
240,  244,  251,  253  ; comparative,  18 ; 
social,  18 ; anthropological,  18,  263, 
292,  300  ; child,  18,  243  ; abnormal,  18  ; 
experimental,  19 ; physiological,  19 ; 
and  psychophysics,  20 ; its  method,  32, 
102,  124;  of  faculties,  294;  limits  of, 
341 ; and  metaphysics,  344. 

Psychophysics,  definition  of,  20  ; methods 
of.  37.  45,  47.  48,  51.  53.  55.  57.  58,  60, 
61,  62,  64,  66,  71,  72,  73,  75,  76,  81,  84, 
87,  102,  103,  141,  143,  145,  155,  157,  160. 
162, 169,  170,  171,  174,  175,  179, 196,  197, 
199,  203,  207,  211,  224,  236,  244,  268, 
279,  298,  308,  310,  316,  318,  320;  see 
Parallelism. 

Quality,  of  sensation,  31,  44,  50,  53,  54,  56, 
59,  62,  63,  65 ; of  complex  processes, 
complex,  32,  176  ; total  number  of  sen- 
sation qualities,  67  ; as  attribute  of  sen- 
sation, 76;  of  affection,  94,  105;  of 
attention,  135;  ideas  founded  upon, 
153,  180;  of  emotion,  221,  230;  of 
sentiment,  305  ; reaction  to,  334. 

Reaction,  method  of,  319 ; simple  and 
compound,  320;  simple  sensorial,  323  ; 
simple  muscular,  325  ; duration  of  sim- 
ple, 325,  326;  mean  variation  of  simple, 
327  ; and  attention,  323,  325,  327  ; sig- 
nal for,  321,  144  ; discrimination,  328  ; 
cognition,  328  ; duration  of  cognition, 
329, 334 ; choice,  330 ; duration  of,  331 ; 
automatic,  332 ; duration  of,  333 ; func- 
tion of  the  experiment,  333 ; associa- 
tion, 335  ; and  memory-type,  338. 

Reasoning,  definition  of,  229;  idea  of  re- 
lation in,  299. 

Recognition,  problem  of,  261,  268  ; analy- 
sis of,  262  ; intrinsically  pleasant,  263  ; 
forms  of,  264 ; formula  of  indirect,  266  ; I 


and  cognition,  266  ; investigation  of, 
268  ; and  memory,  270 ; and  simulta- 
neous association,  262,  283 ; illusion 
of,  285. 

Reflection,  danger  of,  in  psychology,  39, 

306.  314- 

Relation,  idea  of,  300  ; its  formation,  300. 

Reproduction,  as  primitive  memory,  271 ; 
untrustworthy,  273,  280,  302 ; usually 
visual,  274;  its  part  in  imagination, 
see  Imagination. 

Retention,  of  ideas,  in  what  sense  to  be 
understood,  193,  277. 

Rhythm,  function  of,  in  the  time  sense, 
86;  influence  of,  upon  range  of  atten- 
tion, 146;  idea  of,  172;  measurement 
of,  173 ; in  melody,  182 ; and  aesthetic 
sentiment,  308,  313. 

Science,  definition  of,  6 ; psychology  is 
a.  6,  7.  340- 

Self,  definition  of,  287 ; idea  of,  its  con- 
stituents, 288  ; its  formation,  291. 

Self-consciousness,  definition  of,  288  ; see 
Self,  idea  of. 

Sensation,  instances  of,  27  ; definition  of, 
28  ; central  and  peripheral,  29,  99, 122 ; 
attributes  of,  30,  68  ; facts  of,  41 ; classi- 
fication of,  43  ; primitive,  66,  151;  total 
number  of  qualities,  67 ; mutual  rela- 
tions of  attributes  of,  76,  334 ; relation 
of,  to  affection,  96,  98,  99,  100;  as  con- 
stituent of  an  idea,  149 ; see  Movement. 

Sense-organs,  help  us  to  classify  sensa- 
tions, 42. 

Sentiment,  analysis  of,  304  ; and  emotion, 
304 ; quality  of,  305 ; forms  of,  306 ; 
aesthetic,  307  ; intellectual,  315  ; social 
or  ethical,  317;  religious,  318;  pass 
into  emotion,  312,  317,  318  ; expression 
of,  318. 

Shakespeare,  96,  233. 

Social  life,  importance  of,  for  psy- 
chology, IT4,  292,  300. 

Stimulus,  definition  of,  33  ; helps  us  to 
classify  sensations,  42. 

Synthesis,  part  of  the  problem  of  psy- 
chology, T4 ; of  an  emotion,  15 ; of 
effort,  124,  130;  of  action,  319. 

Temperament,  definition  of,  233 ; forms 
of,  233  ; see  Mental  constitution. 


352 


Index 


Tendency,  definition  of,  109  ; natural  and 
acquired,  in,  260;  psychological  im- 
portance of,  1 1 2,  1 15. 

Tennyson , 96,  223. 

Time  sense,  meaning  of  the  phrase,  85; 
for  least  times,  85;  for  large  times,  86; 
for  moderate  times,  86. 

Use  of  words,  popular  and  scientific,  4, 
96,  238,  282,  306,  31 1 ; see  Language. 

Vision,  importance  of,  in  mental  life,  16, 
26,  57,  150,  152,  162,  187,  273;  and  spa- 
tial ideas,  156,  158,  159,  162,  164,  170; 
continuity  of  field  of,  165 ; reinverted, 
167;  optical  illusions,  185  ; associative 
illusions  of,  201 ; aesthetics  of,  308. 


Visual  sensations,  quality  of,  45 ; of 
brightness,  45 ; of  colour,  46 ; total 
number  of,  48;  explanation  of,  49; 
contrast  of,  55,  186;  intensity  of,  71, 
77 ; Webers  law  for,  81 ; and  tem- 
poral ideas,  175;  and  affection,  215. 

Weber,  80. 

Weber's  law,  formulation  of,  80;  range 
of,  81 ; mathematical  expression  of,  81 ; 
and  eye  measurement,  83 ; and  the 
time  sense,  87 ; meaning  of,  87 ; and 
affection,  107 ; for  centrally  aroused 
sensations,  275. 

Will,  in  the  faculty  psychology,  294;  in 
modern  psychology,  294;  sec  Atten- 
tion ; Action,  selective  and  volitional ; 
Reaction,  choice. 


WORKS  ON  PSYCHOLOGY 


BALDWIN.  — Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race.  By 

James  Mark  Baldwin,  M.A.,  Ph.D.,  Stuart  Professor  of  Psychology  in 
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“ It  is  of  the  greatest  value  and  importance." — The  Outlook. 

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CHAMBERLAIN. —The  Child  and  Childhood  in  Folk-thought  (The 
Child  in  Primitive  Culture).  By  Alexander  Francis  Chamberlain, 
M.A.,  Ph.D.,  Lecturer  on  Anthropology  in  Clark  University,  sometime 
Fellow  in  Modern  Languages  in  University  College,  Toronto  ; Fellow  of 
the  American  Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  etc.,  etc. 
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tionally valuable  index  and  bibliography — a model  for  all  other  compilers."  — 
The  Literary  World. 

HEGEL.  — Philosophy  of  Mind.  Translated  from  “Encyclopaedia  of  the 
Philosophical  Sciences.”  With  Introductory  Essays.  By  William 
Wallace.  $2.50,  net. 

HOBHOUSE.  — The  Theory  of  Knowledge.  A Contribution  to  Some  Prob- 
lems of  Logic  and  Metaphysics.  By  L.  T.  Hobhouse.  8vo.  Cloth.  $4.50. 
HOFFDING  (Prof.  H.). — Outlines  of  Psychology.  Translated  by  M.  G. 
Lowndes.  i2mo.  $1.50,  net. 

JARDINE  (R.).  — The  Elements  of  the  Psychology  of  Cognition.  Second 
Edition,  revised.  i2mo.  $1.50,  net. 

KULPE.  — Outlines  of  Psychology.  Based  upon  the  Results  of  Experi- 
mental Investigation.  By  Oswald  Kulpe,  Professor  of  Philosophy  in 
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Edward  Bradford  Titchener,  Sage  Professor  of  Psychology  in  Cornell 
University.  8vo.  Cloth.  Pp.  xi-462.  Price,  $2.60,  net. 

LAURIE.  — The  Institutes  of  Education.  Comprising  a Rational  Intro- 
duction to  Psychology.  By  Dr.  S.  S.  Laurie,  M.A.,  I.R.S.E.  $1.00,  net. 
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MARSHALL  (H.  R.).  — Pain,  Pleasure,  and  .Esthetics.  An  Essay 
concerning  the  Psychology  of  Pain  and  Pleasure,  with  Special  Ref- 
erence to  Esthetics.  By  Henry  Rutgers  Marshall,  M.A.  8vo. 
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author  of  consequence,  of  whose  writings  he  has  not  taken  account.  The  modesty 
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it  almost  ' epoch-making ' in  the  present  situation  of  science.” — The  A'a/ion. 

RYLAND  (F.). — The  Student’s  Manual  of  Psychology  and  Ethics. 

Fifth  Edition,  revised  and  enlarged.  90  cents. 

STANLEY.  — Studies  in  the  Evolutionary  Psychology  of  Feeling.  By 

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$5.50,  net. 

WARNER  (F.). — A Course  of  Lectures  on  the  Growth  and  Means  of 
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— Education. 

WUNDT  (W.). — Lectures  on  Human  and  Animal  Psychology.  Trans- 
lated from  the  Second  and  Revised  German  Edition  (1892)  by  J.  E. 
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ZIEHEN  (T.).  — Introduction  to  Physiological  Psychology.  Translated 
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